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GERALD MASSEY'S POEMS. 



" I PROPOSE to review the works of no ordinary 
poet, — Gerald Massey. It appears that his station in 
life is obscure, and his fortunes far from prosperous. 
Such, also, was the condition of Keats, to whom he 
bears, in many features of his genius, a marvellous re- 
semblance. Keats has fo.ind patrons now he is in his 
grave : may Massey find them on this side of it ! I 
have not the honor (for honor I should think it) to 
know him personally ; therefore, if I should err in my 
judgment of his merits, the cause of my blindness will 
not be attributed to an over-heated partiality. Here 
are stanzas of exquisite and almost unrivalled beauty. 

There are thoughts and expressions here which 

remind us of Shakespeare in the best of his sonnets. 

The reader of this criticism I hope will test its 

accuracy by the perusal of a volume which contains a 
larger quantity of good poetry than threescore osten- 
tatious volumes by " eminent hands." I feel almost as 
much of pleasure in bringing it farther out into public 
notice, as I should of pride if I had written one of its 
pages. Here is such poetry as the generous Laureate 
wiU read with approbation ; such poetry as Jeffrey 
would have tossed aside with derision, and as Gifford 
w^ould have torn to pieces with despair. Can any 
thing more or better be said for it ? " — Walter Savage 
Laiulur. 



THE 



t 



POETICAL WORKS 



GERALD MASSEY. 

n 



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 



BOSTON: 
TICK NOR AND FIELDS 

M DCCC LVII. 









c A M B R ■ D r: E ? 

TUCRSTON AND T(yR' J, PRIXTKRS. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 
A BIOGRAPHIC SKETCH .... xi 

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION , . . Xxiii 

TO MY WIFE ....... 1 

THE BALLAD OF BABE CHRISTABEL . . 5 

LONG EXPECTED ." . . . . .16 

WOOED AND WON ..... 19 

SONG . . . . . . . .21 

WEDDED LOVE ...... 22 

THIS WORLD IS FULL OF BEAUTY . . .28 



TO A BELOVED ONE 



30 

HOOD, WHO SANG THE SONG OF THE SHIRT . 32 

THE SINGER ..*... 35 

ICHABOD 

NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE 

THE CHIVALRY OF LABOR 

THE CHIVALRY OF LABOR EXHORTED TO THE 

WORSHIP OF BEAUTY . . . . 

WHEN I COME HOME ..... 42 

THE THREE SPIRITS . . . . .44 

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW .... 48 

HUSBAND AND WIFE 49 

NO JEWELLED BEAUTY IS MY I OVE . . 51 

THE KINGLIEST KINGS . . . . .52 



36 
38 

39 
40 



Vni CONTEXTS. 

MARTYRS FOR HUNGARY AND ROME. 1850 . 
LOVE ME ...... 

love's FAIRY RING . . . . . 

NEW year's EVE YS EXILE 

SONG 

O THE -WHITE SNOW CROWNS THE HILLS . 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY-EIGHT . 
THE PATRIOT . ..... 

A lover's fancy . . . . . 

SONG ....... 

IT WILL END IN THE RIGHT 

god's WORLD IS WORTHY BETTEfl MEN 

OLD ENGLAND ...... 

A POOR man's wife .... 

LINES INSCRIBED TO THE REV. F. D. MAURICE 

LOVE 

A SONG IN THE CITY . . . . . 

A WELCOME TO LOUIS KOSSUTH 

ONWARD AND SUNWARD . . . . 

A maiden's song 

there's no dearth OF KINDNESS 

A LYRIC OF LOVE ..... 

THE FAMINE-SMITTEN . . . . . 

OUR FATHERS ARE PRAYING FOR PAUPER-PAY 
A CRY OF THE PEOPLES . . . . 

HOPE ON, HOPE EVER .... 

THE people's ADVENT . . . . 

KISSES ....... 

PEACE ....... 

EDEN ....... 



CONTENTS. 



IX 



THE MEN OF FORTY-EIGHT . 

OUR LAND ...... 

SWEET SPIRIT OF MY LOVE 

THE BRIDAL 

A GLIMPSE OF AULD LANG-SYNE . 

SONG OF THE RED REPUBLICAN 

THE PATRIOT TO HIS BRIDE 

ANATHEMA MARANATHA . . . • 

LITTLE LILYBELL .... 

THE GOLDEN WEDDING-RING . 

THE UNBELOVED .... 

DESERTED 

LOVE IN IDLENESS .... 

DOWN IN AUSTRALIA .... 

THE EXILE TO HIS COUNTRY 

THE LORDS OF LAND AND MONEY . 

THE DESERTER FROM THE CAUSE 

THEY ARE BUT GIANTS WHILE WE KNEEL 

THE CRY OF THE UNEMPLOYED . 

I LOVE MY LOVE, AND MY LOVE LOVES ME 

THE THREE VOICES .... 

THE WORKER . . . . • 

THE AWAKENING OF THE PEOPLE 

PRESS ON ..... • 

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE 

all's RIGHT WITH THE WORLD 

SONG ...... 

A CHAUNT ....•• 

SONG 

ENGLAND GOES TO BATTLE 



X CONTENTS. 

Craigcrook Castle may be read as a continuous Poem, 
or divided into separate Poems. To facilitate reference 
for the casual reader, the following list of Parts and 
Pages is subjoined. 

PARK 

CRAIGCROOK CASTLE ..... 153 

THE mother's idol broken . . . 173 

LADY LAURA 191 

GLIMPSES OF THE WAR .... 227 

THE BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTY . . . 265 

CRUMBS FROM THE TABLE .... 277 

ONLY A DREAM 289 



A BIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 



BIOGRAPHIC SKETCH 



The reader of the miscellaneous literature of the 
day has doubtless met with the name of Gerald 
Massey attached to poems strikingly beautiful in 
language and intensely passionate in feeling. These 
poems have heretofore been published chiefly in 
journals which are yet in a great measure tabooed 
in what are regarded as " respectable literary cir- 
cles." The " Spirit of Freedom," a cheap journal, 
started in 1849, and written exclusively by work- 
ing-men, contained a large number of them ; and 
others have since appeared in the " Christian So- 
cialist," a cheap journal conducted by Clergymen 
of the Church of England; and many others also, 
of great beauty, have been published in the 
" Leader," a remarkably able journal conducted 
by Thornton Hunt, the son of the poet. 

You see at once that the writer is a man of vivid 
genius, and is full of the true poetic fire. Some of 
his earlier pieces are indignant expostulations with 
society at the wrongs of suJSering humanity ; pas- 
sionate protests against those hideous disparities of 
life which meet our eye on every side ; against 
power wrongfully used ; against fraud and oppres- 
sion in their more rampant forms ; mingled with 
appeals to the higher influences of knowledge, jus- 
tice, mercy, truth, and love. It is always thus 
with the poet who has worked his way to the light 



XIV A BIOGKAl'HIC SKETCH. 

througli darkness, suffering, and toil. Give a poor 
down-trodden man culture, and in nine cases out of 
ten, you only increase his sensitiveness to pain ; you 
agonize hiui with the sight of pleasures which are 
to him forbidden ; you quicken his sense of despair 
at the frightful inequalities of the human lot. 
There are tiiousands of noble natures, with minds 
which, under better circumstances, would have 
blessed and glorified their race, who have been for 
ever blasted — crushed into the mire — or con- 
demned to courses of desperate guilt' — for one 
wdio, like Gerald Massey, has nobly risen above his 
trials and temptations, and triumphed over them. 
And when such a man do3S find a voice, surely 
' • rose-w^ater " verses and "hot-pressed" sonnets 
are not to be expected of him ; such things are not 
by any means the natural products of a life of des- 
perate struggling wath poverty. When the self- 
risen and self-educated man speaks and writes 
now-a-days, it is of the subjects nearest to his heart. 
Literature is not a mere intelligent epicurism wnth 
men who have suffered and grown wise, but a real, 
earnest, passionate, vehement, living thing — a 
power to move others, a means to elevate them- 
selves, and to emancipate their order. This is a 
marked peculiarity of our times ; knowledge is now 
more than ever regarded as a ])Ower to elevate, not 
merely individuals, but classes. Jlence the most 
intelligent of working-men at this day are intensely 
political : we merely state this as a fad not to be 
disputed. In former times, when literature was 
regarded mainly in the light of a rich man's luxury, 
poets wdio rose out of the working-class sung as 
their patrons wished. Bloomfield and Clare sang 
of the quiet beauty of rural life, and painted pic- 
tures of evening skies, purling brooks, and grassy 
meads. Burns could with difficulty repress the 
" Jacobin " spirit wdiich burned within him ; and 
yet even he was rarely, if ever, political in his tone. 



A BIOGRAI'HIC SKETCH. XV 

His strongest verses, having a political bearing, 
were those addressed to the Scotch Representatives 
in reference to the Excise regulations as to the dis- 
tillation of whiskey. But come down to our own 
day, and mark the difference : Elliot, Nichol, Bam- 
ford, the author of " Ernest," the Chartist Epic, 
Davis, the " Belfast Man," De Jean, Massey, and 
many others, are intensely political ; and they de- 
fend themselves for their selection of subjects as 
Elliot did, when he said, " Poetry is impassioned 
truth ; and why should we not utter it in the 
shape that touches our condition the most closely 
— the political?" But how it happens that the 
writings of working-men now-a-days so generally 
assume the political tone, will be best ascertained 
from the following sketch of the life of Gerald 
Massey : — 

He was born in May, 1828, and is, therefore, 
barely twenty-three years of age. He first saw the 
light in a little stone liut near Tring, in Herts, one 
of those miserable abodes in which so many of our 
happy peasantry — their country's pride! — are 
condemned to live and die. One shilling a week 
was the rent of this hovel, the roof of which was 
so low that a man could not stand upright in it. 
Massey 's father was, and still is, a canal boatman, 
earning the wages of ten shillings a week. Like 
most other peasants in this " highly-favored Chris- 
tian country," he has had no opportunities of edu- 
cation, and never could write his own name. But 
Gerald Massey was blessed in his mother, from 
whom he derived a finely-organized brain and a 
susceptible temperament. Though quite illiterate 
like her husband, she had a firm, free spirit — it 's 
broken now ! — a tender yet courageous heart, and 
a pride of honest poverty which she never ceased to 
cherish. But she needed all her strength and 
courage to bear up under the privations of her lot. 
Sometimes the husband fell out of work ; and there 
b 



XVI A BIOGRAFUIC SKETCU. 

was no bread in the cupboard, except what was 
purchased ])y the labor of the elder children, some 
of whom were early sent to work in the neighbor- 
ing silk-mill. Disease, too, often fell upon the 
family, cooped up in that unwholesome hovel : in- 
deed, the wonder is, not that our peasantry should 
be diseased, and grow old and haggard before their 
time, but that they should exist at all in such lazar- 
houses and cesspools. 

None of the children of this poor family were 
educated, in the common acceptance of the term. 
Several of them were sent for a short time to a 
penny school, where the teacher and the taught 
were al)out on a par ; but so soon as they were of 
age to work, the children were sent to the silk-mill. 
The poor cannot afford to keep their children at 
school, if they are of an age to work and earn 
money. They must help to eke out their parents' 
slender gains, even though it be only by a few 
pence weekly. So, at eight years of age, Gerald 
Massey went into the silk manufactory, rising at 
five o'clock in the morning, and toiling there till 
half-past six in the evening ; up in the gray dawn, 
or in the winter before the daylight, and trudging 
to the factory through the wind or in the snow ; 
seeing the sun only through the factory windows ; 
breathing an atmosphere laden with rank oily 
vapor, his ears deafened by the roar of incessant 
wheels : — 



" Slill all the day the iron wheels go onward, 
Griudin<; life down from its mark ; 
And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward, 
Spin on blindly m the dark." 

What a life for a child ! What a substitute for 
tender prattle, for childish glee, for youthful play- 
time ! Then home, shivering under the cold, star- 
less sky, on Saturday nights, with 9</., Is., or Is. 
'Sd., for the whole week's work, lor such were the 



A BIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. XYH 

respective amounts of the wages earned by the child- 
labor of Gerald Massey. 

But the mill was burned down, and the children 
held jubilee over it. The boy stood for twelve 
hours in the wind and sleet, and mud, rejoicing in 
the conflagration which thus liberated him. Who 
can wonder at this? Then he went to straw-plait- 
ing, — as toilsome, and, perhaps, more unwhole- 
some than factory-work. Without exercise, in a 
marshy district, the plaiters were constantly hav- 
ing racking attacks of ague. The boy had the 
disease for three years, ending with tertian ague. 
Sometimes four of the family, and the mother, lay 
ill at one time, all crying with thirst, with no one 
to give them drink, and each too weak to help the 
other. How little do we know of the sufferings 
endured by the poor and struggling classes of our 
population, especially in our rural districts ! No 
press echoes their wants, or records their suffer- 
ings ; and they live almost as unknown to us as if 
they were the inhabitants of some undiscovered 
country. 

And now take, as an illustration, the child-life 
of Gerald Massey. " Having had to earn my own 
dear bread," he says, " by the eternal cheapening 
of flesh and blood thus early, I never knew what 
childhood meant. I had no childhood. Ever 
since I can remember, I have had the aching fear 
of want, throbbing in heart and brow. The cur- 
rents of my life were early poisoned, and few, me- 
thinks, would pass unscathed through the scenes 
and circumstances in which I have lived ; none, if 
they were as curious and precocious as I was. The 
child comes into the world like a new coin with the 
stamp of God upon it ; and in like manner as the 
Jews sweat down sovereigns, by hustling them in 
a bag to get gold-dust out of them, so is the poor 
man's child hustled and sweated down in this )jag 
of society to get wealth out of it ; and even as the 



XVIU A BIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 

i 111 press of the Queen is effaced hy the Jewish 
piucc'Ks, so is the image of (jiod wurii from heart 
and brow, and day by day the child recedes devil- 
ward. I look back now with wonder, not that so 
few escape, but that any escape at all, to win a 
nobler growth for their humanity. So blighting 
are the influences which surround thousands in 
early life, to which I can bear such bitter testi- 
mony." 

And how fared the growth of this child's mind 
the while? Thanks to the care of his mother, who 
had sent him to the penny school, he had learnt to 
read, and the desire to read had been awakened. 
Books, however, were very scarce. The Bible 
and Bunyan Avere the principal ; he committed 
many chapters of the former to memory, and ac- 
cepted all Bunyan "s allegory as bond fide history. 
Afterwards he o1)tained access to " Robinson Cru- 
soe," and a few Wesleyan tracts left at the cottage. 
These constituted his sole reading, until he came 
up to London, at the age of fifteen, as an erra-nd- 
boy ; and now, for the first time in his life, he met 
with plenty of l)ooks, reading all that came in his 
w^ay, from " Lloyd's Penny Times," to Cobbett's 
AVorks, " French without a Master," together 
with English, Roman, and Grecian history. A 
ravishing awakenment ensued, — the delightful 
sense of growing knowledge, — the charm of new 
thought, — the wonders of a new world. "Till 
then," he says, " I had wondered why I lived at 
all , — whether 

* It was not better not to be, 
I was so full of misery.' 

Now I began to think that the crown of all desire, 
and the sum of all existence, was to read and get 
knowledge. Read ! read ! read ! I used to read 
at all possibh^ times, and in all possible places ; 
up in bed till two or three in the morning, — 



A BIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 



nothing daunted by once setting the bed on fire. 
Greatly indebted was I also to the bookstalls, 
where I have read a great deal, often folding a leaf 
in a book, and returning the next day to continue 
the subject ; but sometimes the book was gone, 
and then great was my grief! When out of a 
situation, I have often gone without a meal to 
purchase a book. Until I fell in love, and began 
to rhyme as a matter of consequence, I never had 
the least predilection for poetry. In fact, I always 
eschewed it ; if I ever met with any, I instantly 
skipped it over, and passed on, as one does with 
the description of scenery, &c., in a novel. I al- 
ways loved the birds and flowers, the woods and 
the stars ; I felt delight in being alone in a summer- 
wood, with song, like a spirit, in the trees, and the 
golden sun-bursts glinting through the verdurous 
roof; and was conscious of a mysterious creeping 
of the blood, and tingling of the nerves, when 
standing alone in the starry midnight, as in God's 
OAvn presence-chamber. But until I began to 
rhyme, I cared nothing for written poetry. The 
first verses I ever made were upon ' Hope,' when I 
was utterly hopeless; and after I had begun, I 
never ceased for about four years, at the end of 
which time I rushed into print." 

There was, of course, crudeness both of thought 
and expression in the first verses of the poet, which 
were published in a provincial paper. But there 
was nerve, rhythm, and poetry ; the burthen of the 
song was, " At even-time it shall be light." The 
leading idea of the poem was the power of knowl- 
edge, virtue, and temperance, to elevate the con- 
dition of the poor, — a noble idea truly. Shortly 
after he was encouraged to print a shilling volume 
of" Poems and Chansons," in his native town of 
Tring, of which some 250 copies were sold. Of 
his later poems we shall afterwards speak. 

But a new power was now working upon his na- 



XX A BIOGRAPDIC 8KETCU. 

true, as might have been expected. — the power of 
o[»iuioii, as expressed in books, and in the discus- 
sions of" his fellow- workers. 

"As an errand-bt»y," he says, "I had, of 
course, many hardshi])s to undergo, and to bear 
with much tyranny ; and that led me into reason- 
ing upon men and things, the causes of misery, 
the anomalies of our societary state, politics, &c., 
and the circle of my being rapidly out-surged. 
New power came to me with all that I saw, and 
thought, and read. I studied political works, — 
such as Paine, Volney, Howitt, Louis Blanc, &c., 
which gave me another element to mould into my 
verse, though I am convinced tluit a poet must 
sacrifice much if he write party-political poetry. 
His politics must be above the pinnacle of party 
zeal; the politics of eternal truth, riglit, and jus- 
tice. He must not waste a life on what to-morrow 
may prove to have been merely the (juestiou of a 
day. The French Revolution of 1(S48 had the 
greatest effect on me of any circumstance connected 
with my own life. It was scarred and l^lood-burnt 
into the very core of my being. This little volume 
of mine is the fruit thereof." 

But, meanwhile, he had been engaged in other 
literary work. Full of new thoughts, and bursting 
with aspirations for freedom, he started, in April, 
184:9, a cheap journal, written entirely by work- 
ing-men, entitled, "The Spirit of Freedom:" it 
was full of fiery earnestness, and half of its weekly 
contents were supplied by Gerald Massey himself, 
who acted as editor. It cost him five situations du- 
ring a period of eleven months, — twice because he 
was detected burning candle far into the night, and 
three times because of the tone of the opinions to 
which he gave utterance. The French Revolution 
of 18 18 having, amongst its other issues, kindled 
the zeal of the working-men in this country in the 
cause of association, Gerald Missey eagerly joined 



A BIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. XXI 

them, and he has been recently instrumental in 
giving some impetus to that praiseworthy move- 
ment, — the object of which is to permanently 
elevate the condition of the producing classes, by 
advancing them to the status of capitalists as well 
as laborers. 

A word or two as to Gerald Massey's recent 
poetry. Bear in mind that he is yet but a youth ; 
— at twenty-three a man can scarcely be said fair- 
ly to have entered his manhood ; and yet, if we 
except Robert Nichol, who died at twenty-four, 
we know of no English poet of his class, who has 
done any thing to compare with him. Some of 
his most beautiful pieces originally appeared in 
the columns of the " Leader." They give you the 
idea of a practised hand — one who has reached 
the full prime of his poetic manhood. Take, for 
instance, his " Lyrics of Love," so full of beauty 
and tenderness. Nor are his " Songs of Progress " 
less full of poetic power and beauty. 

Gerald Massey is a teacher through the heart. 
He is familiar with the passions, and leans towards 
the tender and loving aspect of our nature. He 
takes after Burns more than after Wordsworth, 
Elliot rather than Thomson. He is but a young 
man, though he has crowded into his twenty-three 
years already the life of an old man. He has won 
his experience in the school of the poor, and nobly 
earned his title to speak to them as a man and a 
brother, dowered with " the hate of hate, the 
scorn of scorn, the love of love." 

Extract, from '■'Eliza Cook^s Journal,^'' 1851. 



PREFACE 

TO THE THIRD EDITION. 

I DO not like to write a Preface. I do not think 
a volume of verse should need one. But, as my 
Book has reached a Third Edition, and as almost 
as much has been said about myself as about my 
Book, perhaps I may be excused, even by the Pre- 
face-hater, if I do take this opportunity of saying a 
few words. I have been considerably censured for 
the political opinions which it contains, — as I ex- 
pected to be. Before printing, I was advised not 
to include the political pieces, as, it was urged, 
they would prove an obstacle to the success of my 
Poetry, and close the drawing-room door against 
me. And if I had looked on the success of my 
Book in a poetical light alone, 1 should not have 
printed the greater portion of the political verses. 
But that was not the sole point of view. Those 
verses do not express what I think and feel now, 
since they were written some five or six years ago : 
yet they express what I thought and felt then, and 
what thousands beside me have thought and felt, 
and what thousands still think and feel. They 
were the outcome of a peculiar and marked ex- 
perience. I printed the " Memoir," so that they 
might be read in the light, or gloom, of that ex- 
perience, and the Book contain its own excuse. 
They have not read me aright, who have not so in- 
terpreted it. I have been blamed for the rebellious 
feelings to which the political pieces give utterance ; 



XXIV PREFACE TO TUE TUIRD EDITION. 

but they were perfectly natural under the circum- 
Btances. Indeed, I look upon tliose same rebellious 
feelings as my very deliverance from a fatal slough. 
There are conditions in which many of the poor 
exist, where humanity must be either rebel or 
slave. For the slave, degradation and moral death 
are certain ; but for the rebel there is always a 
chance of l)ecoming conqueror ; and the force to 
resist is far better than the faculty to succumb. 

It is not that I seek to sow dissension between 
class and class, or fling firebrands among the com- 
bustibles of society ; for when I smite the hearts of 
my fellows, I would rather they should gush with 
the healing waters of love, than with tiie fearful 
fires of hatred. I yearn to raise them into loveable 
beings, I would kindle in tlie hearts of the masses 
a sense of the beauty and grandeur of tiie universe, 
call forth the lineaments of Divinity in their poor 
worn faces, give them glimpses of the grace and 
glory of Love and the marvellous significance of 
Life, and elevate the stiindard of Humanity for all. 
But strange wrongs are daily done in the land, 
bitter feelings are felt, and wild words will be 
spoken. It was not for myself alone that I wrote 
these things : it was always the condition of. others 
that so often made the mist rise up and cloud my 
vision. Nor was it for mysdf that I have uncur- 
tained some scenes of my life to the public gaze, 
but as an illustration of the lives of others, who 
suffer and toil on, " die, and make no sign ; " and 
because one's own personal experience is of more 
value than that of others taken upon hearsay. 

So I keep my ]»olitical verses as memorials of my 
past, as one might keep some worn-out garment 
because he liad passed through the furnace in it, 
nothing doul)ting that in the future tliey will often 
prove my passport to the hearts and homes of 
thousands of the poor, wlien tlie minstrel comes to 
their door witli somethinir better to brin<!: them. 



PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION". XXV 

They will know that I have sufiered their suffer- 
ings, wept their tears, thought their thoughts, and 
felt their feelings ; and they will trust me. 

I have bean congratulated by some correspond- 
ents on the uses of suffering, and the riches I have 
wrung from Poverty : as though it were a blessed 
thing to be born in the condition in which I was, 
and surrounded with untoward circumstances as I 
have been. My experience tells me that Poverty is 
inimical to the development of Humanity's noblest 
attributes. Poverty is a never-ceasing struggle 
for the means of living, and it makes one hard 
and selfish. To be sure, noble lives have been 
wrought out in the sternest poverty. Many such 
are being wrought out now, by the unknown heroes 
and Martyrs of the Poor. I have known men and 
women in the very worst circumstances, to whom 
heroism seemed a heritage, and to be noble a natural 
way of living. But they were so in spite of their 
poverty, and not because of it. What they might 
have been if the world had done better by them, I 
cannot tell ; but if their minds had been enriched 
by culture, the world had been the gainer. When 
Christ said, " Blessed are they who suffer," he did 
not speak of those who suffer from want and hun- 
ger, and who always see the Bastile looming up 
and blotting out the sky of their future. Such 
suffering brutalizes. True natures ripen and 
strengthen in suffering ; but it is that suffering 
which chastens and ennobles, — that which clears 
the spiritual sight, — not the anxiety lest work 
should fail, and the want of daily bread. The 
beauty of Suffering is not to be read in the face of 
Hunger. 

Above all, Poverty is a cold place to write Poetry 
in. It is not attractive to poetical influences. The 
Muses do not like entertainment which is not fit for 
man or beast. Nor do the best fruits of Poetry 
ripen in the rain, and shade, and wind alone : they 



XXVI PREFACE TO THE TUIRI) EDITION. 

want fiunshine, warmth, and the open sky. And 
should the heart of a poor man break into song, it 
is likely that his poverty may turn into hailstones 
that which might have i'allen on the world in fruc- 
tifying rain. A poor man, fighting his battle of 
life, has little time for the raj/ture of repose which 
Poetry demands. lie cannot take Poetry like a 
Bride to his heart and home, and devote a life to 
her service. He can only keep some innermost 
chamber of his heart sacred for her, from whence 
he gets occasional glimpses of her wondrous beauty, 
when he can steal away from the outward strife, 
like some child who has ibund a treasure, and 
steals aside to look on it in secret and alone, lest 
rude and importunate companions should snatch it 
from the possessor's hands. Considering all things, 
it may appear madness ior a poor man to attempt 
Poetry in tiie face of the barriers that surround 
him. So many hearts have been broken, so many 
lives have been wasted, so many lions are in the way 
of the Gate Beautiful, and so many wrecks lie by 
the path ! And so it is, — a diseased madness, or 
a divine one. If the disease, then there is no help 
for a man ; if the divine, then there is no hinder- 
ance for him. 

Who would not pity the poor versifier at the 
outset of his career ? But who would not also re- 
joice with him in the end, when the world crowns 
him a Poet with pa3ans of acclaim? And, in spite 
of all things, there will be Poetry in the midst of 
poverty. Even as there is scarcely a space in the 
world so barren but some plot of natural richness 
will be running all to flowers, — some type of love- 
liness will be starting up from Earth's inner Sea 
of Beauty, even in waste and wilderness, on rock 
and ruin, in Alpine snows and sandy solitudes, — 
so is it with Poetry, the Flower of liunumity. It 
will continually be springing, in its own natural 
way, in tiie most bleak and barren bye-ways of the 



PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. XXVU 

world, as well as in the richest and most cultivated 
pastures The winds of heaven, or the birds of 
God, will drop the seed, and the flower will follow, 
even though sown amid the bushes and brambles of 
the obscurest hamlet, or in the crevices of the city 
l^avement. Not that the wilderness, or the rock, 
or the snows, are the fittest places to rear flowers 
of most exquisite fragrance and beauty ; neither 
are Poverty and Penury, with their hell of torture, 
and daily wrestle with grim Death, the fittest soil 
to grow and perfect the flower of Poetry. The 
greatest original Genius can only develope itself 
according to the circumstances which environ it. 
It needs food to nourish it, and time and opportu- 
nity to unfold it. If it lack these, it must remain 
dwarfed and stunted, and perhaps wither and die. 

Besides, it is not while the fight is raging, and 
the struggle is sore, that the Poet can sing. He 
must first do battle and overcome, climb from the 
stir and strife, and be able to watch from his 
mountain where he dwells apart. The fullest and 
rarest streams of Poetry only flow through a mind 
at peace. The mirror of the Poet's soul must be 
calm and clear : else it will give forth distorted re- 
flections and false imagings. 

Had I known, when I began to write versos, 
what I know n jw, I think I should have been in- 
timidated, and not have begun at all. So many 
and so glorious are the luminaries already up and 
shining, that one would pause before hoisting a 
rushlight. But I was ignorant of these things. 
And as I have begun, and conquered some prelim- 
inary difficulties, — as I have been sweated down 
to the proper jockey-weight at which I can ride 
Pegasus with little danger of spraining his wings, 
— and as a purpose has gradually and unconscious- 
ly grown upon me, — 1 dare say I shall go on, 
making the best of my limited materials, with the 
view of writing some songs that may become dear 



XXVlll PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. 

to the hearts of the people, cheering them in their 
sorrows, voicing their aspinitions, lighting them 
on the way up which they are grojiing darkly after 
better things, and saluting their triumphs with 
hymns of victory ! 

1 cannot conclude without thanking those Critics 
who have given me so generous a welcome. And I 
would also thank those who have not spared my 
faults, or dwelt tenderly on my failings. They, 
also, have done me good, and I am grateful for it. 
Friendly praise is somewhat like a warm bath, — 
apt to enervate, especially if we stay in too long ; 
but friendly censure is like a cold bath, bracing 
and healthful, though we are always glad to get 
out of it. Some of the Critics have called me a 
"Poet;" but that word is much too lightly 
spoken, much too freely bandied about. I know 
what a Poet is too well to fancy that I am one yet. 
It is a high standard that I set up m^'self, and I 
do not ask it to be lowered to reach my stature ; 
nor would I have the Poet's awful crown dimin- 
ished to mete my lesser l)row. I may have that 
something within which kindles tlame-like at the 
))reath of Love, or mounts into song in the presence 
of Beauty ; but so have many who are not Poets. 
If I were a Critic, I should be savagely severe on 
this subject. The dearth of Poetry should be great 
in a country where we hail as Poets such as have 
been crowned of late. 

For myself, I have only entered the lists, and in- 
scribed my name: the race has yet lo be run. 
Whether I shall run it, and win the Poet's crown, 
or not, time ah^ne will prove, and not the predic- 
tion of friend or foe. The crowns of Poetry arc 
not in the keeping of Critics. There have been 
many who have given some sign of promise, — 
just set a rainbow of hope in the dark cloud of 
their life, — and never fulfilled their promise; and 
the world has wondered why. But it might not 



PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. XSIX 

have been matter of wonder if the world could 
have read what was written behind the cloud. 
Others, again, are songful in youth, like the 
nightingales in Spring, who soon cease to sing, 
because they have to build nests, rear their young, 
and provide for them ; and so the songs grow 
silent, — the heart is full of cares, and the dream- 
er has no time to dream. I hope that my future 
holds some happier fate. I think there is a work 
for me to do, and I trust to accomplish it. 

GERALD aiASSEY. 

April, 1854. 



TO MY WIFE. 

Like those Ambassadors of old, that went 

To the far Orient land, with kingly gifts 

Of Gold, 83 royal-rare and wondrous fine ; 

And Jewels — from which a subtle spirit lookt — 

To nestle richly between Beauty's breasts — 

And crown her gorgeous brows with winking flame, 

Or clothe her starrily as Queenly Night, 

And found that land a garden where they grew, 

Lavish, as all the dews were turn'd to gems ; 

So bring I thee. Sweet Lady of my love, 

My gems which I have garner 'd up, to find 

How poor they are beside thy peerless wealth. 

Th' Elysium where thy tender spirit dwells 

Is written o'er with thoughts of beauty, thick 

As starry mysteries written on the night. 

Thy realm is rich in Memory's golden mines, 

And flashing out with harvest-fields of Hope. 

My Muse ! that iuoveth swathed with holier light,. 

Throned on the regnant heights of Womanhood 

In all thy summer beauty, warm as when 

I lookt out on the sunny side of Life, 

And saw thee summering like a blooming Vine, 

That reacheth globes of wine in at the lattice 

By the ripe armful, with ambrosial smile. 

The flying Cares but touch thy Life's fair face, 

Lightly as swimming shadows dusk the Lake. 

Come sit thee down, dear, by my side, To-night ; 

The world shut out, our little world shut in ! 

"Where we are happy as the Bird whose nest 



TO MV WIFE. 



Is heaven 'd in the heart of purple Hills, 

Or region'd in the palmy top of life, 

Where sleep is dark and lusty as leaves in June : 

Now shut thine eyes, and sec a pageant bloom 

Upon the dai-k, — a Vision sweeping by. 

I was a dweller amid shadows grim : 

Till Freedom toucht my yearning eyes, and lo ! 

Life in a shining circle, rounding rose. 

As heaven on heaven goes up the joweird night. 

New floods of passionate life swirl'd at my heart, 

Like Ocean-surges rolling round the world : 

And Freedom was my glittering IJride. For me 

She walkt the world as a Divinity, 

Sang like a Spirit in Life's darken'd ways, 

P the Rainbow reacht forth girdling arms of love, 

To clasp the Unap])arent to the Earth, — 

Turn'd common things to beauty : as the sun 

Doth kindle glory in the grass and dust — 

Went forth flame-plumed, in Chariot sublime, 

And rode the winds, like him who walks the worlds 

AVhen the roused Storm-God strode his War-Horse, 

Ocean, 
That sloughs the foam with flying mane of fire ! 
And when the fresli Morn llower'd like a Rose, 
Birds sang of her, and all their happy hearts 
Rang out in music. Leaves clapt faery hands. 
The Flowers for joy stood tearful in her glory, 
And World went singing, unto World, of Freedom. 
And I would blazon her melodious name. 
Sing some wild paaan should touch the world to 

tears. 
Or chariot it to battle in her Cause : 
For ! her softest breath, tliat might not stir 
The summer gossamer tremulous on its throne. 
Makes the crown 'd Tyrants start with realmless 

looks ! 
I would have given the lustre of my life 
To add one jewel to her Diadem ! 
And then thou cam'st, and Love grew lord of all. 



TO MY WIJFE. 6 

Look how the Sun puts out the eyes of fire ! 
So when Love's royal glance my lattice lit, 
The fires of Freedom whiten'd on my hearth. 
The sleeping Beauty in my heart's charm'd Palace 
Woke at Love's kiss. My life was set aflush, 
As Roses redden when the Spring moves by, 
And the green buds peer out like eyes, to see 
The delicate Spirit whose sweet presence stirr'd 

them. 
How my heart ripen'd in its flooding spring ; 
As when the sap runs up the tingling trees, 
Till all the sunny life laughs out in leaves. 
And lifts its fluttering wings ! So my heart felt 
With such brave shoots of glory bursting up, 
As it had flower'd for Immortality. 
The heights of Being came out from their cloud. 
As the clifis kindle when the Morning comes 
Swimming the utmost Sea in ruddy haste. 
With foam of glory ; and the ruby light. 
Like mellow wine, rans down remotest hills. 
Thou cam'st, my sparkling Bird of Paradise ! 
With a soft murmuring as of winnowing wings 
That fold the nest so Dove-like tenderly ! 
With brows that parted lovely waves of hair, 
And took the gazer's eye like some white Grace ! 
Eyes, loving large ! Lips Ilouri-like, that light 
A soul to glory with their kiss of fire ; 
And cheeks fresh misted with the bloom of Morn. 
And thou didst move, a Splendor 'mid Life's Shad- 
ows, 
Making a Eembrandt Picture. So the Stars 
In all their glory pass the shrinking Dark. 
0, I was stirr'd as though a Spirit went by ; 
Or I had met some awful Loveliness, 
That haunts the realm of Dreams, or duskly floats 
Across the wondering solitudes of Thought. 
So Love was lord of all. I touch my lyre. 
And love o'erflows my heart, and floods my hand. 
Love makes all dear delights so soothly sweet. 



4 TO MY WIFE. 

Life pants heart-stifled with its luscious load, 
Like young Earth claspt in June's voluptuous arms, 
Faint with her fragrance, flooded up in flowers. 
Love's life divine, and Beauty is its smile. 
Love will make the killing crown of thorn 
Burst into blossom on the Martyr's brow ! 
Upon Love's bosom Earth floats like an Ark 
Safely through all the Deluge of the dark. 
Love rays us round as glory swathes a star, 
And, from the mystic touch of lips and palms. 
Streams rosy warmth enough t' illume a world : 
And Spirit-eyes, from out the purpling glooms, 
Mark how we feed this human Altar-flame, 
How speeds this ripening into Deity ! 
What glittering robes for immortality 
Trail starry radiance through our night of Earth ! 
And in our home thy presence maketh Love 
A Mortal, who hath died to rise again, 
Immortal, in its nobler life with thee. 

Love! sublime me unto loftier things; 
Roll up my Orb from Passion's misting Deep, 
To climb the heights of Thought's eternal Vast ; 
And though it shine not 'mid the Suns of Song, 
To set a world sweet-murmuring in its light. 
Like Memnon at the radiant touch of Dawn, 

1 know each Star hath its own perfect place 

In heaven, though it may have no name on Earth. 

I hope my hope, and dream my dream that life 

With me shall yet ring out melodious, 'twixt 

The silences of lieaven and the grave. 

Labor ! blind and feeling for the day ! 

Might I go forth to peer with eagle ken 

Into the blessed land of promise, wiiere 

The Future like a fruitfuller Summer sits 

Ripening IIeu Eden silently, to bear 

The crowning flower of consummated Life, — 

Where Freedom's Song-ELirds fly, to build their 

nests, 
And warm to life their brood of darlin"; dreams : 



THE BALLAD OF BABE CHRISTABEL. 

Then see thy dark face lighten at my news, 

And hearten thee to lift up grander brows 

With light o'erfiowing like a shining Sea. 

I see a shape behind a mist, that burns 

I' the flushing distance of some unseen Goal ; 

That grows with gazing on, like Lover's beauty. 

With beckoning smiles the Glory draws me on ; 

One hand points up, one holds a glittering crown, 

For me to climb and w^ear with lordlier growth, 

And airy Voices call me, bid me leap 

In Victory's Car as it goes bickering by. 

And Thou, dear Wife! with exultation lit. 

Wilt weep proud tears t' enrich my wine of joy, — 

A costlier cup than ever Anthony's Queen 

Magnificent ! drank in her voluptuous vein ! 



THE BALLAD OF BABE CHRISTABEL. 

Whex Danae-Earth bares all her charms. 
And gives the God her perfect flower, 
Who in the sunshine's golden shower, 

Leaps warm into her amorous arms ! 

When buds are bursting on the brier. 
And all the kindled greenery glows. 
And life hath richest overflows. 

And morning fields are fringed with fire : 

When young Maids feel Love stir i' the blood. 
And wanton with the kissing leaves 
And branches, and the quick sap heaves. 

And dances to a ripen'd flood ; 

Till, blown to its hidden heart with sighs. 

Love's red rose burns i' the cheek so dear. 
And, as sea-jewels upward peer, 

Love-thoughts melt through their swimming eyes 



6 TUE BALLAD OF IJABE CURISTABEL. 

When Beauty walks in bravest dress, 

And, fed with April's mellow showers, 

Tlie earth laughs out with sweet May-flowers, 

That flush for very happiness : 

And Spider-Puck such wonder weaves 

0' nights, and nooks of greening gloom 
Are rich with violets that bloom 

In the cool dark of dewy leaves : 

When Rose-buds drink the fiery wine 

Of Dawn, with crimson stains i' the mouth, 
All thirstily as yearning Youth 

From Love's hand drinks the draught divine ; 

And honey'd plots are drowsed with Bees : 
xVnd Larks rain music by the shower, 
AVhile singing, singing hour by hour. 

Song like a Spirit sits i' the Trees ! 

When fainting hearts forgot their fears. 
And in the poorest Life's salt cup 
Some rare "svine runs, and Hope builds up 

Her rainbow over Memory's tears ! 

It fell upon a merry May morn, 

I' the perfect prime of that sweet time 
When daisies whiten, woodbines climb, — 

The dear Babe Christabel was born. 



All night the Stars bright watches kept, 
Like Gods that look a golden calm ; 
The Silence dropt its precious balm. 

And the tired world serenely slept. 



THE BALLAD OF BACE CHRISTABEL. 

The birds were darkling in the nest, 
Or bosom 'd in voluptuous trees : 
On beds of flowers the jDanting breeze 

Had kist its fill and sank to rest. 

All night beneath the Cottage eaves, 

A lonely light, with tremulous Arc, 
Surged back a space the sea of dark, 

And glanced among the glimmering leaves. 

Without ! the quiet heavens above 

The nest of life, did lean and brood ! 
Within ! the Mother's tears of blood 

Wet the Gethsemane of her love ! 

And when the Morn with frolic zest, 

Lookt through the curtains of the night, 
There was a dearer dawn of light, 

A tenderer life the Mother's prest ! 

Ah ! bliss to make the brain reel wild ! 
The Star new-kindled in the dark — 
Life that had fluttered like a Lark — 

Lay in her bosom a sweet Child ! 

How she had felt it drawing down 

Her nesting heart more close and close, — 
Her rose-bud ripening to a Rose, 

That she should one day see full-blown ! 

How she had throbb'd with hopes and fears, 
And strain'd her inner eyes till dim. 
To see the coming glory swim 

Through the rich mist of happy tears ; 

For it, her woman's heart drank up 

And smiled at, Sorrow's darkest dole : 
And now Delight's most dainty soul 

Was crusht for her in one rich cup ! 



8 TIIK BALLAD OF BABE CIIRISTABEL. 

And then delicious languors cre})t, 

Like nectar, on her pain's hot drouth 
And feeling fingers — kissing raouth- 

Being faint with joy, the Mother slept. 



1 



Babe Christabel was royally l)orn ! 

For when the earth was flusht with flowers, 
And drencht with beauty in rainbow showers, 

She came through golden gates of Morn. 

No chamber arras-pictured round, 

AVhcre sunlieams golden gorgeous gloom, 
And touch its glories into bloom, 

And footsteps fall withouten sound, 

"Was her Birth-place that merry INIay-morn ; 
No gifts were heapt, no bells were rung, 
No iiealths were crown'd, no songs were sung. 

When dear Babe Christabel was born : 

But Nature on the darling smiled, 

And with her beauty's l)lessing crown'd : 
Love brooded o'er the hallowed ground, 

And there were Angels with the Child ! 

And May her kisses of love did blow 
On amorous airs, thAt came to her 
With gifts of Frankincense and Myrrh, 

As came the Magi long ago 

To worship Bethlehem's baby-King, 

Spring-Birds make welcoming merriment, 
And all the Flowers for welcome sent 

The secret sweetness of the Spring. 



THE BALLAD OF BABE CHRISTABEL. 

With glancing lights and shimmering shade, 
And cheeks that toucht and ripelier burn'd, 
May-Roses in at the lattice yearn'd 

A-tiptoe, and Good Morrow bade. 

No purple and fine linen might 

Be hoarded up for her sweet sake : 

But Mother's love shall clothe and make 

The little wearer richly dight ! 

Wide worlds of worship are their eyes, 
Their loyal hearts are worlds of love, 
AVho fondly clasp the stranger Dove, 

And read its news from Paradise. 

Their looks praise God — souls sing for glee : 
They think if this old world had toil'd 
Through ages to bring forth their child, 

It hath a- glorious destiny. 



HAPPY Husband ! happy Wife ! 

The rarest blessing Heaven drops down, 
The sweetest blossom in Spring's crown, 

Starts in the furrows of your life ! 

God ! what a towering height ye win. 
Who cry, '* Lo my beloved Child ! " 
And, life on life sublimely piled. 

Ye touch the heavens and 23eep within ! 

Look how a star of glory swims 
Down aching silences of space. 
Flushing the Darkness till its face 

With beating heart of light o'erbrims ! 



10 TUE BALLAD OF BABE CHRISTABEL. 

So brightening came Babe Christabel, 

To touch the earth with fresh romance, 
And light a Mother's countenance 

"With looking on her miracle. 

"With hands so flower-like soft, and fair, 
She caught at life, Avith words as sweet 
As first spring violets, and feet 

As faery-light as feet of air. 

The Father, down in Toil's mirk mine. 
Turns to his wealthy world above. 
Its radiance, and its home of love ; 

And lights his life like sun-struck wine. 

The Mother moves with qucenlicr tread : 
Proud swell the globes of ripe delight 
Above her heart, so warm and white 

A pillow for the baby-head ! 

Their natures deepen, well-like clear, / 

Till God's eternal stars are seen, 
For ever shining and serene, 

By eyes anointed Beauty's seer. 

A sense of glory all things took, — 

The red Rose-Heart of Dawn would blow, 
And Sundown's sumptuous pictures show 

Babe-Cherubs wearing their Babe's look ! 

And round their peerless one they clung. 
Like bees about a flower's wine-cup : 
New thoughts and feelings blossom'd up. 

And hearts for very fulness sung 

Of what their budding Babe should grow. 
When the Maid crimson 'd into Wife, 
And crown'd the summit of some life, 

Like Phosphor, with morn on its brow ! 



^ 



THE BALLAD OF BABE CHRISTABEL. 11 

And they should bless her for a Bride, 
Who, like a splendid saint alit 
In some heart's seventh heaven, should sit, 

As now in theirs, all glorified ! 

But ! 'tvs^as all too w^hite a brow- 
To flush with Passion that doth fire 
With Hymen's torch its own death-pyre, — 

So pure her heart was beating now ! 

And thus they built their Castles brave 
In fairy lands of gorgeous cloud ; 
They never saw a little white shroud, 

Nor guess'd how flowers may mask the grave. 



She grew, a sweet and sinless Child, 

In sun and shadow, — calm and strife ; 
A Rainbow on the dark of Life, 

From Love's own radiant heaven down-smiled ! 

In lonely loveliness she grew, — 

A shape all music, light, and love. 
With startling looks, so eloquent of 

The spirit burning into view. 

At Childhood she could seldom play 

With merry heart, whose flashings rise 
Like splendor-winged butterflies 

From honeyed hearts of flowers in May : 

The fields with flowers flamed out and flusht. 
The Roses into crimson yearn'd. 
With cloudy fire the wall-flowers burn'd, 

And blood-red Sunsets bloom'd and blusht — 



12 TUE BALLAD OF IJAllE CIIRISTABEL. 

And still licr cheek was pale as pearl, — 
It took no tint of Summer's wealth 
Of color, warmth, and wine of Health : — 

Ah ! Death's hand whitely pressed the Girl ! 

No blushes swarm'd to the sun's kiss 

Where violet-veins ran purple light, 
So tenderly thro' Parian white 

Touching you into tenderness. 

A spirit-look was in her face, 

That shadow'd a miraculous range 
Of meanings, ever rich and strange, 

Or lighten 'd glory in the place. 

Such mystic lore was in her eyes, 

And light of other worlds than ours, 
She lookt as she had fed on flowers, 

And drunk the dews of Paradise. 

Her hrow — fit home for daintiest dreams — 
AVith such a dawn of light was crown'd, 
And reeling ringlets showered round, 

Like sunny sheaves of golden beams : 

And she would talk so weirdly-wild. 
And grow upon your wonderings. 
As tho' her stature rose on wings ! 

And you forgot she was a Child. 

Ah ! she was one of those who come 
With pledged promise not to stay 
Long, ere tlie Angels let them stray 

To nestle down in earthly home : 

And, thro' the windows of her eyes, 
We often saw her saintly soul. 
Serene, and sad, and beautiful, 

Go sorrowins: for lost Paradise. 



THE BALLAD OF BABE CHRISTABEL. 13 

In Earth she took no lustj root, 

Her beauty of promise to disclose, 
And round into the Woman-Rose, 

And climb into Life's crowning fruit. 

She came — like music in the night 

Floating as heaven in the brain, 

A moment oped, and shut again, 
And all is dark where all was light. 

She came, — as comes the light of smiles 
O'er earth, and every budding thing 
Makes quick with beauty — alive with Spring ; 

Then goeth to Hesperian Isks. 



Midnight was tranced solemnly 

Thinking of Dawn : Her Star-thoughts burn'd ! 

The Trees like burden 'd Prophets yearn'd, 
Rapt in a wind of prophecy . 

When, like the Night, the shadow of Woe 
On all things laid its hand death-dark, 
Our last hope went out like a spark. 

And a cry smote heaven like a blow ! 

We sat and watcht by Life's dark stream, 
Our love-lamp blown about the night, 
With hearts that lived as lived its light, 

And died as died its precious gleam. 

In Death's face hers flasht up and smiled. 

As smile the young flowers in their prime, 
r the face of their gray murderer Time, 

And Death for true love kist our child. 



14 THE BALLAD OF BABE CHRISTABEL. 

She thought our good-night kiss was given. 
And like a lily her life did close ; 
Angels uncurtain'd that repose, 

And the next waking dawn'd in heaven. 



With her white hands claspt she sleepeth ; heart 
is husht, and lips are cold ; 
Death shrouds up her heaven of beauty, and a 
weary way I go, 
Like the slice]) without a Shepherd on the wintry 
norland wold, 
"With the face of day shut out by blinding snow. 

O'er its widow'd nest my heart sits moaning for its 
young that's fled 
From this world of wail and weeping, gone to 
join her starry peers ; 
And my light of life 's o'ershadow'd where the dear 
one lieth dead. 
And I'm crying in the dark with many fears. 

All last night-tide she seemed near me, like a lost 
beloved Bird, 
Beating at the lattice louder than the sobbing 
wirid and rain ; 
And I call'd across the night with tender name and 
fondling word ; 
And I yearn'd out thro' the darkness, all in vain. 

Heart will plead, " Eyes cannot see her : tliey are 
blind with tears of pain ; " 
And it climbeth up and straineth, for dear life, 
to look and hark 
While I call her once again : but there cometh no 
refrain, 
And it droppeth down, and dieth in the dark. 



THE BALLAD OF BABE CHRIST ABEL. 15 

In this dim world of clouding cares, 
We rarely know, till wildered eyes 
See white wings lessening up the skies, 

The Angels with us unawares. 

And thou hast stolen a jewel, Death ! 

Shall light thy dark up like a Star, 

A Beacon kindling from afar 
Our light of love, and fainting faith. 

Thro' tears it gleams perpetually. 

And glitters thro' the thickest glooms, 
Till the eternal morning comes 

To light us o'er the Jasper Sea. 

With our best branch in tenderest leaf. 

We've strewTi the way our Lord doth come ; 
And, ready for the harvest-home. 

His Reapers bind our ripest sheaf.- 

Our beautiful Bird of light hath fled : 
Awhile she sat with folded Avings — 
Sang round us a few hoverings — 

Then strait way into glory sped. 

And white-wing'd Angels nurture her ; 

With heaven's white radiance robed and 
crown'd. 

And all Love's purple glory round, 
She summers on the Hills of Myrrh. 

Thro' Childhood's morning-land, serene • 

She walkt betwixt us twain, like Love ; 
While, in a robe of light above, 

Her better Angel walkt unseen , 

Till Life's highway broke bleak and wild ; 
Then, lest her starry garments trail 
In mire, heart bleed, and courage fail, 

The Angel's arms caught up the child. 



IG LONG EXPECTED. 

Her wave of life hath backward roll'd 
To the great Ocean ; on whose shore 
We wander up and down, to store 

Some treasures of the times of old : 

And aye we seek and hunger on 

For precious pearls and relics rare, 
Strewn on the sands for us to wear 

At heart, for love of her that's gone. 

weep no more ! there yet is balm 
In Gilead ! Love doth ever shed 
Rich healing where it nestles, — spread 

O'er desert pillows, some green Palm I 

God's ichor fills the hearts that bleed ; — 
The best fruit loads the broken bough ; 
And in the wounds our sufferings plough, 

Immortal love sows sovereign seed. 



LONG EXPECTED. 

MANY and many a day before we met, 

1 knew some spirit walkt the world alone, 
Awaiting tiie Beloved from afar ; 

And I was the anointed chosen one 

Of all the world to crown her queenly brows 

With the imperial crown of human love, 

And light its glory in her happy eyes. 

I saw not with mine eyes so full of tears. 

But heard Faith's low sweet singing in the night, 

And groping thro' the darkness, toucht God's hand. 

I knew my sunshine somewhere warm'd the world, 

Tho' I trod darkling in a perilous way ; 

And I should reach it in 11 is own good time 



LONG EXPECTED. 17 

Who sendeth sun, and dew, and love for all : 
My heart might toil on blindly, but, like earth, 
It kept sure footing thro' the thickest gloom. 
Earth, with her thousand voices, talkt of thee ! — 
Sweet winds, and whispering leaves, and piping 

birds ; 
The trickling sunlight, and the flashing dews ; 
Eve's crimson air and light of twinkling gold ; 
Spring's kindled greenery, and her breath of balm ; 
The happy hvim and stir of summer woods, 
And the light dropping of the silver rain. 
Thine eyes oped with their rainy lights, and laugh- 
ters, 
In April's tearful heaven of tender blue. 
With all the changeful beauty melting thro' them, 
And Dawn and Sunset ended in thy face. 
And standing as in God's own presence-chamber, 
When silence lay like sleep upon the world, 
And it seem'd rich to die, alone with Night, 
Like Moses 'neath the kisses of God's lips ! 
The stars have trembled thro' the holy hush, 
And smiled down tenderly, and read to me 
The love hid for me in a budding breast. 
Like incense folded in a young flower's heart. 
Strong as a sea-swell came the wave of wings. 
Strange trouble trembled thro' my inner depths, 
And answering wings have sprung within my soul : 
And from the dumb waste places of the dark, 
A voice has breathed, "She comes! " and ebb'd 

again ; 
While all my life stood listening for thy coming. 
0, I have guessed thy presence out of sight. 
And felt it in the beating of my heart. 
When all was dark within, sweet thoughts would 

come, 
As starry guests come golden down the gloom. 
And thro' Night's lattice smile a rare delight : 
While, lifted tor the dear and distant Dawn, 
The face of all things wore a happy light, 
2 



18 LONG EXPECTED, 

Like those dream-smiles which are the speech of 

Sleep. 
Thus Love lived on, and strengthened with the days, 
Lit by its own true light within my heart, 
Like a live diamond burning in the dark. 
Then came there One, a mirage of the Da-\vn : 
She swam on towards me in her sumptuous triumph, 
Voluptuously upborne, like Aphrodite 
Upon a meadowy swell of emerald sea. 
A ripe, serene, smile-affluent graciousness 
Hung like a shifting radiance on her motion, 
As bickering hues upon the Dove's neck burn. 
Her lip might flush a wrinkled life in bloom ! 
Her eyes were an omnipotence of love ! 
" eyes ! " I said, " if such your glories be, 
Sure 'tis a warm heart feedeth ye with light ! " 
The silver throbbing of her laughter pulst 
The air with music rich and resonant, — 
As, from the deep heart of a summer night, 
Some bird in sudden sparklings of fine sound 
Hurries its startled being into song. 
And from her sumptuous wealth of golden hair 
Unto the delicate pearly finger-tip, 
Fresh beauty trembled from its thousand" springs : 
And standing in the outer porch of life, 
All eager for the templed mj'steries. 
With a rich heart as full of fragrant love 
As May's musk-roses are of morning's wine, 
AVhat marvel if I questional not her brow, 
For the flame-signet of the Hand divine, 
Or gauged it for the crown of my laro-e love ?, 
I plunged to clutch the pearl of her babbling beauty , 
Like some swift diver in a shallow stream. 
That smites his life out on its heart of stone. 
Ah ! how my life did run with fire and tears ! 
AVith what a Titan-pulse my love did beat ! 
But she, rose-lined without, — God pity her ! — 
AVas cold at heart as snow in last year's nest. 
And struck like death into my burning brain. 



WOOED AND WON. 19 

Mj tears, that rain'd out life, she froze in falling. 
And wore them, jewel-like, to deck her triumph ! 
But love is never lost tho' hearts run waste ; 
Its tides may gush 'mid swirling, swathing deserts, 
Where no green leaf drinks up the precious life : 
Yet love doth evermore enrich itself, — 
Its bitterest waters run some golden sands ! 
No star goes down but climbs in other skies ; 
The rose of Sunset folds its glory up, 
To burst again from out the heart of Dawn ; 
And love is never lost tho' hearts run waste. 
And sorrow makes the chasten 'd heart a seer ; 
The deepest dark reveals the starriest hope. 
And Faith can trust her heaven behind the veil. 



WOOED AND WON. 

The plough of Time breaks up our Eden-land, 
And tramples down its fruitful flowery prime. 
Yet thro' the dust of ages living shoots 
' the old immortal seed start in the furrows ; 
And, where Love looked on with glorious eye. 
These quicken'd germs of everlastingness 
Flower lusty, as of old in Paradise ! 
And blessings on the starry chance of love ! — 
And blessings on the morn of merry May ! — 
That led my footsteps to your beechen bower. 
Thus hangs the picture in my mind, sweet Wife ! 
Rich as a Millais in its tint and tone. 
Nature flasht by me with her glorious shows. 
The birds were singing on the blossoming boughs, 
With Love's sweet mystery stirring at their hearts. 
Like first spring- motions in the veins o' the flowers. 
A light of green laught up the shining hills. 
Which rounded through the mellowing, gloating 



20 WOOED AND WOX. 

As their big hearts heaved to some heart beyond, 
Or strove \vith inner yearnings for the crown 
Of purple rondure smiling there in heaven ! 
The tlowers were forth in all their conquering 

beauty, 
And, winking in their Mother Earth's old face, 
Said, all -her children should have happy hearts. 
Deeper and deeper in the wood's green gloom 
I nestled for the fever at life's core : 
And thirstily my heart was drinking in 
Rich overflowings of some Cushat's love ; 
"When, flash ! the air instinct with splendors grew, 
As if the world, while on her starry journey. 
Had suddenly floated in the clime of heaven. 
Upon a primrose bank you sat, — a sight 
To couch the old blind sorrow of my soul ! 
A sweet new blossom of Humanity, — 
Fresh fallen from God's own home to flower on 

earth. 
A golden burst of sunbeams glinted through 
The verdurous roof's lush-leavy greenery. 
And on you dropt its crown of living li^ht. 
Your eyes — half-shut, while thro' their silken 

eaves 
Trembled the secret sweetness hid at heart — 
Oped sudden at full, and wide with wonderment ! 
The sweetest eyes that ever drank sun for soul : 
As subtly tender as a summer heaven, 
Brimm'd with the beauty of a starry night ! 
Your face, so dewy fresh and wondrous fair, 
Kindled and lighten'd as the coming God 
Were laboring upward thro' its birth of fire ! 
The fleetest swallow-dip of a tender smile 
Ran round your moutli in thrillings ; while your 

cheek 
Dimpled, as from the arch Love's finger-print. 
Out flew his signal, flutterinfj in a blush ! 
And when your voice broke up the air for music. 
It smote upon my startled heart as smites 



SONG, 21 

The new-born babe's first cry a mother's ear, 
Yet strangely toucht some mystic memory, 
And dimly seem'd some old familiar sound. 
That day, with an immortalizing kiss. 
You croAvn'd me monarch of your rich heart- world, 
Which heaved a boundless sea of love, whose tides 
Ran radiant pulsings thro' your rosy limbs. 
How the love-lights did float up in your eyes, 
Like virgin stars from violet depths of night ! 
Dear eyes ! all craving with Love's ache and hun- 

And all the spirit stood in your face athirst ! 
And from the rose-cup of your murmuring mouth 
Sweetness o'erflow'd, as from a fragrant fount. 
kiss of life ! that oped our Eden-world ! 
The harvest of an age's wealth of bliss 
In that first kiss was reaped in one rich minute ! 
The wanton airs came breathing like the touch 
Of fragrant lips that feed the blood with flame ! 
The very earth seemed bursting up, and heaven 
Clung round and clasped us as in glowing arms, 
To crush the wine of all your ripen'd beauty, 
Which were a fitting sacrament for death — 
Into a costly cup of life for me. 



SONG. 

Ah ! 'tis like a tale of olden 

Time, long, long ago ; 
When the world was in its golden 

Prime, and love was lord below ! 
Every vein of Earth was dancing 

With the Spring's new wine ! 
'Twas the pleasant time of flowers, 

When I met you, love of mine ! 



22 WEDDED LOVE. 

Ah ! some spirit sure was straying 
Out of heaven that day, 

"When I met you, Sweet ! a-Maying 
In the merry, merry May, 

Little heart! it shyly open 'd 

Its red leaves' love lore. 
Like the rose that must be ripen'd 

To a dainty, dainty core. 
But its beauties daily brighten, 

And it blooms so dear, — 
Tho' a many Winters whiten, 

I go Maying all the year. 
And my proud heart Avill be praying 

Blessings on the day. 
When I met you. Sweet, a-Maj'ing, 

In the merry, merry May. 



WEDDED LOVE. 

The summer Night comes brooding down on Earth, 

As Love comes brooding down on human hearts, 

With bliss that hath no utterance save rich tears. 

She floats in fragrance down the smiling dark, 

Foldeth a kiss upon the lips of Life, — 

Curtaineth into rest the weary world, — 

And shuts us in witli all our hid delights. 

The Stars come sparkling thro' the gorgeous gloom, 

Like dew-drops in the fields of heaven ; or tears 

That hang rich jewels on the cheeks of Night. 

A spirit-feel is in the solemn air, 

The Flowers fold their cups like praying hands, 

And with droopt heads await the blessing, Night 

Gives with her silent magnanimity. 

'Tis evening with the world ; but, in my soul 

The light of wedded love is still at dawn ! 

And skies my world, an everlasting Dawn. 



WEDDED LOVE. 23 

My heart rings out in music, like a lark 
Hung in the charmed palace of the Mora, 
That circles singing to its mate i' the nest. 
With luminous being running o'er with song : 
So my heart flutters round its mate at home ! 
There, with her ej^es turned to her heart, she 

reads 
The golden secrets written on its heaven. 
And broodeth o'er its panting wealth of love. 
As Night i' the hush and hallow of her beauty 
Bares throbbing heaven to its most tremulous 

depths, 
And broods in silence o'er her starry wealth. 
And, fingering in her bosom's soft, white nest, 
A fair babe, beautiful as Dawn in heaven, 
Made of a mother's richest thoughts of love, — 
Lies like a smile of sunshine among lilies, 
That giveth glory — drinketh fragrant life ! 
Sweet bud upon a Rose ! our plot of spring, 
That bursts in bloom amid a wintry world ! 
How dear it is to mark th' immortal life 
Deepen, and darken, in her large, round eyes, — 
To watch Life's rose of dawn put forth its leaves. 
And guess the perfumed secret of its heart — 
And catch the silver words that come to break 
The golden silence hung like heaven around. 
But soft ! Elysium opens in my brain ! 
Dear Wife! with sweet, Ioav voice, she syllables 
Some precious music balm'd in her heart's book, 
And I am flooded with melodious rain. 
Like Nature standing crown'd with sunlit showers. 

" As the surging heart o' the Sea hungers everlast 
ingly 
For the Moon, heaven-charmed by her influ- 
ence : 
As Star yearns to Star, with love palpitating like 
a dove. 
Doth my heart yearn up to his bright eminence. 



24 WEDDED LOVE. 

♦' my Love, he seems to stand where Heaven leans 
so near at hand, 
That from other worlds his lineaments take 
light : 
And he hlls my cup of wonder, and floods all my 
life with splendor, 
As a glorious, golden Moon fills all the night. 

*' At his violet-sweet words my heart carols like a 
bird's. 
And rich instincts burst from out it like heaven- 
flowers ; 
Wings bud in me at his kiss, and my being brims 
with bliss. 
As a valley brims with life in spring-tide 
hours. 

•' my life was dark and cold as the night-dews 
on the wold, 
Waiting to be made alive with fire of dawn ; 
Till his presence on me lightcn'd, and his blessing 
on me brightened, 
And my life like dews lit up for heaven shone." 



Nay, Sweet Heart ! that should be my song, who 

search 
Love's lore in vain for meet similitudes 
To sym))ol what thy love hath been to me. 
The God lies prison'd in the mountain stone, 
The mufilcd Music slumbers in the strings, 
Awaiting the Deliverer's magic touch ! 
So, thou beloved ! did 1 wait for Thee, 
To Avaken at thy touch. My Tree of being 
But made blind gropings in the dark, cold earth. 
And nioan'd and trembled, in the wintry air. 
Stretching out naked hands to pluck at life : 
Until you came, with all your light, and warmth, 
Encircling round it like a summer heaven, 



WEDDED LOVE. 25 

And fed, and clad it with your fragrant beauty, 
Till budding branches burst on fire with bloom, 
And into ripe fruits mellow'd goldenly. 
My life lay barren as a desolate moor 
That breaks, and burns, in twinkling green and gold. 
When Spring doth greet it with her kiss of life. 
As weary earth goes darkling thro' the night, 
So my heart toil'd on, tearful with its burthen : 
No beacon burn'd thro' all the gloom, to break 
The Surging sea of dark, with piers of light : 
Then on a sudden rose the blessed Morn, 
Sun-crown'd my life, made all things beautiful, 
And gave the world its Eden-robes again. 
My soul up-sprang full-statured, in the light, 
Thy presence caught my heart up at the leap. 
Wing'd like a young world from the hands of God ! 
Methought a thousand graves of buried hopes 
Could crush it not from its proud eminence. 
The Future's dim cloud-curtain rent in twain, 
And lighten'd radiant revelation : All 
Life's purpose dawn'd, as unto dying eyes 
The dark of Death doth blossom into stars. 
And since we met, thy life-long thought hath been 
To be cup-bearer of the wine of joy 
To one leal heart, and to make rich one life. 
Pulse after pulse, thy life hath surged in mine, 
Like sea-waves hurrying up the beach to crown 
Their shore, and break in starry shoAvers of light. 
Thou hast brought radiant sunrise every morn, 
Renewing all the glory past away. 
Thy lavish love hath "twined about my life. 
Like the lush Woodbine wedded to the Thorn ; 
Hiding its harshness with her wealth of flowers ! 
My heart drinks inspiration at thine eyes. 
And lights my brain up as with fragrant flame : 
Sweet eyes of starry tenderness, thro' which 
The soul of some immortal sorrow looks ! 
Sorrow that addeth grace to loveliness, 
As its sad bloom enricheth blushing fruit. 



26 WEDDED LOVE. 

Dear Eyes ! they have a radiant Alchemy, 
And pierce my being with such quickening light 
As makes my heart a jewel-mine of love ; 
Even as the Sun strikes thro' the dark cold Earth, 
And tires her million veins with golden life. 
My Life ran like a river in rocky ways, 
And downward dasht, a sounding cataract ! 
But thine was like a quiet lake of beauty, 
Soft-shadow'd round by gracious intluences, 
That gathers silently the wealtli of eartii, 
And woos heaven till it melts down into it. 
They mingled : and the glory, and the calm. 
And royal-rich magnificence of thy love, 
Closed round me, brooding into perfect rest. 
And made my heart rejoice in all thy joy. 
blessings on th}'^ true and tender heart ! 
How it hath gone forth like the Dove of old, 
'i'o bring some leaf of promise in Life's deluge ! 
Thou hast a strong up-soaring tendency, 
That bears me Godward, as the stalwart oak 
Uplifts the clinging vine, and gives it growth. 
Thy reverent heart familiarly doth take 
Unconscious clasp of high and holy things. 
Like little children playing of old with Christ ; 
And trustcth where it may not understand. 
"We have had sorrows, love ! and Avept the tears 
That run the rose-hue from tlie cheeks of Life ; 
But Grief hath jewels as Night hath her stars ! 
And she revealeth what we ne'er had known, 
With Joy's wreath tumbled o'er our blinded eyes. 
The heart is like an instrument whose strings 
Steal magic music from Life's mystic frets ; 
The golden tlireads are spun thro' Suil'ering's fire. 
Wherewith the marriage-robes for heaven are 

woven : 
And all the rarest hues of human life 
Take radiance, and are rainbow'd out in tears, 
As water'd marble blooms a richer grain. 
Thou'rt little chano;ed, dear love ! since first was wed 



WEDDED LOVE. 27 

To mine, the blossom of thy crimson lips ; 

Thy beauty hath climaxt like a crescent Moon, 

With glory great'ning to the golden full. 

Thy flowers of Spring are crown 'd with summer 

fruits. 
And thou hast put a queenlier presence on 
With thy regality of Womanhood ! 
Yet Time but toucheth thee with mellowing shades 
That set thy graces in a wealthier light. 
Thy soul still looks with its rare smile of light, 
From the Gate Beautiful of its palace-home. 
Fair as the spirit of the evening Star 
That lights its glory as a radiant porch 
To beacon earth with a brief glimpse of heaven. 
We are poor in this world's wealth, but rich in love ; 
And they who love feel rich in every thing. 
The heart of Ocean — thick with gems, as earth 
With blooms — is jewell'd like a Bride o' the East : 
The heart of Heaven swarms with golden worlds — 
A subtle heart of wealth hath our old world. 
And darks of diamonds, grand as nights of stars : 
But richer is the human heart that shrines 
God's peerless wealth — th' immortal jewel Love ! 
So let us live our life : and let our love, 
Our large twin-love, bend o'er our little Babe, 
As the calm grand old heavens bend over earth, 
Revealing God's own starry thoughts and things ! 
So shall the image of our heart's Ideal — 
The angel nestling in her bud of life — 
Smile upward in the mirror of her face 
A daily beauty in our darkened ways. 
And a perpetual feast of holy things. 
let us walk the world, so that our love 
Burn like a blessed beacon, beautiful ! 
Upon the walls of Life's surrounding dark. 
Ah ! what a world 'twould be if love like ours 
Made heaven in human hearts, and clothed with 

smiles 
The sweet sad face of our Humanity ! 



28 THIS WORLD IS FULL OF BEAUTY. 

What lives should quicken into sudden spring ! 
What flowers of glory burst their frozen soil ! 
Like the red pulse of Dawn thro' cold grey skies, 
New life sliould flush up in the darken "d lace 
That readeth as a written epitaph 
Alx)ve tlie grave of beauty and uf soul ! 
Love-light should glimmer on the Helot's brow 
As mellow moonliglit silvers thro' a cloud, 
And God should come into the mirkest being. 
As Stars new-kindled splendor nights of space. 



THIS WORLD IS FULL OF BEAUTY. 

Tdere lives a voice within me, a guest-angel of my 

heart, 
And its sweet lispings win me, till the tears a-trem- 

bling start ; 
Up evermore it springeth, like some magic melody, 
And evermore it singeth this sweet song of songs to 

me — 
This world is full of beauty, as other worlds 

above ; 
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

Night's starry tenderness dower with glory ever- 
more, 

Morn's budding, bright, melodious hour comes 
sweetly as of yore ; 

But there be million hearts accurst, where no sweet 
sunbursts shine, 

And there be million hearts athirst for Love's im- 
niortal wine. 

This world is full of beauty, as other worlds 
above ; 

And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 



THIS WORLD IS FULL OF BEAUTY. 29 

If faith, and hope, and kindness pass'd, as coin, 

'twixt heart and heart ; 
How, thro' the eye's tear-blindness, should the 

sudden soul upstart ! 
The dreary, dim, and desolate, should wear a sunny 

bloom. 
And Love should spring from buried Hate, like 

flowers o'er AYinter's tomb. 
This world is full of beauty, as other worlds above ; 
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

Were truth our uttered language. Angels might 

talk with men. 
And God-illumined earth should see the golden Age 

again ; 
The burthen'd heart should soar in mirth like 

Morn's young prophet-lark. 
And Misery's last tear wept on earth, quench Hell's 

last cunning spark. 
For this world is full of beauty, as other worlds 

above ; 
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

Lo ! plenty ripens round us, yet awakes the cry for 
bread. 

The millions still are toiling, crusht, and clad in 
rags, unfed ! 

While sunny hills and valleys richly blush with 
fruit and grain, , 

But the paupers in the palace rob their toiling fel- 
low-men. 

This world is full of beauty, as other worlds 
above ; 

And, if we did our duty, it might.be full of love. 



Dear God ! what hosts are trampled 'mid this 

killing crush for gold ! 
What noble hearts are sapp'd of love ! what spirits 

lose life's hold ! 



30 TO A BELOVED ONE. 



Yet a merry world it might be, opulent for all, and 

"With its lands that ask for labor, and its wealth 

that wastes away. 
This world is full of beauty, as otlicr worlds above ; 
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 

The leaf-tongues of the forest, and the flow'r-lips 

of the sod — 
The happy Birds that hymn their raptures in the 

ear of God — 
The summer wind that bringeth music over land 

and sea, 
Have each a voice that singeth this sweet song of 

songs to me — 
This world is full of beauty, as other worlds above ; 
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 



TO A BELOVED ONE. 

Heaven hath its crown of Stars, the Earth 

Her glory -robe of flowers — 
The Sea its gems — the grand old Woods 

Their songs and greening showers : 
The Birds have homes, where leaves and blooms 

In beauty wreathe above ; 
High yearning hearts, their rainbow-dream — 

Aiid we, Sweet ! we have love. 

We walk not with the jewell'd Great, 

Where Love's dear name is sold; 
Yet have we wealth we would not give 

For all their world of gold ! 
We revel not in Corn and AV^ine, 

Yet have we from above 
Manna divine, and we'll not pine : 

Do we not live and love ? 



TO A BELOVED ONE. 31 

There's sorrow for the toiling poor, 

On Misery's bosom nurst : 
Rich robes for ragged souls, and Crowns 

For branded brows Cain-curst ! 
But Cherubim, with clasping wings, 

Ever about us be. 
And, happiest of God's happy things ! 

There's love for you and me. 

Thy lips, that kiss till death, have turn'd 

Life's water into wine ; 
The sweet life melting thro' thy looks, 

Hath made my life divine. 
All Love's dear promise hath been kept, 

Since thou to me wert given ; 
A ladder for my soul to climb, 

And summer high in heaven. 

I know, dear heart ! that in our lot 

May mingle tears and sorrow ; 
But, Love's rich Rainbow 's built from tears 

To-day, with smiles To-morrow. 
The sunshine from our sky may die, 

The greenness from Life's tree, 
But ever, 'mid the warring storm. 

Thy nest shall shelter 'd be. 

1 see thee ! Ararat of my life. 

Smiling the waves above ! 
Thou hail'st me Victor in the strife. 

And beacon 'st me with love. 
The world may never know, dear heart ! 

What I have found in thee ; 
But, tho' nought to the world, dear heart ' 

Thou'rt all the world to me. 



32 



HOOD, 

WHO SANG THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 

'Tis the old story ! — ever the blind world 

Knows not its Angels of Deliverance 

Till they stand glorified 'twixt earth and heaven. 

It stones the martyr ; then, with praying hands, 

Sees the God mount his chariot of fire, 

And calls sweet names, and worships what it 

spurn 'd. 
It slays the Man to deify the Christ : 
And then how lovingly 'twill bind the brows 
Where late its thorn-crown laught with bloody 

lips — 
Red, and rejoicing from grim Murder's kiss ! 
To. those who walk beside them, great men seem 
Mere common earth ; but distance makes them stars. 
As dying limbs do lengthen out in death. 
So grows the stature of their after-fame ; 
And then we gather up their glorious words. 
And treasure up their names with loving care. 
So Hood, our Poet, lived his martyr-life : 
With a swift soul that travell'd at rare speed, 
And struck such flashes from its flinty road, 
That l)y its trail of radiance through the dark, 
We almost feature th' unknown Future's face — 
And went uncrown'd to his untimely tomb. 
Certes, the AVorld did praise his glorious Wit — 
The merry Jester with his cap and bells ! 
And sooth, his wit was like Ithuriel's spear ; 
But 'twas mere lightning from the cloud of his life, 
AV^hich held at heart most rich and blessed rain 
Of tears melodious, that are worlds of love ; 
And Rainbows, that would bridge from earth to 

heaven. 



HOOD. 33 

And Light, that would have shone like Joshua's sun 
Above our long death-grapple with the Wrong ; 
And thunder-voices, with their Words of fire. 
To melt the Slave's chain, and the Tyrant's crown. 
His wit ? — a kind smile just to hearten us ! — 
Rich foam-wreaths on the waves of lavish life, 
That flasht o'er precious pearls and golden sands. 
But, there was that beneath surj^assing show ! 
The starry soul, that shines when all is dark ! — 
Endurance, that can suffer and grow strong — 
Walk through the world with bleeding feet, and 

smile ! — 
Love's inner light, that kindles Life's rare colors ! 
And thoughts that swathe Humanity with such 

glory 
As limns the outline of the coming God ; 
And wine of Beauty for the panting soul. 
In him were gleams of such heroic splendors 
As light this cold, dark world up as a star 
Array 'd in glory for the eyes of heaven : 
And a great heart that beat according music 
With tlieirs of old — God-likest, royallest men ! 
A conquering heart ! which Circumstance, that 

frights 
The Many down from Love's transfiguring height, 
Aye mettled into martial attitude. 
He might have clutcht the palm of Victory 
In the world's wrestling ring of mightiest deeds ; 
But he went down like a rich Argosy 
At sea, just glimmering into sight of home. 
With its rare freightage from diviner climes. 
The world may never know the wealth it lost, 
When Hood went darkling to his tearful tomb. 
So mighty in his undevelopt force ! 
With all his crowding unaccomplished hopes ! 
Th' unuttered wealth and glory of his soul ! 
And all the music ringing round his life, 
And poems stirring in his d3dng brain ! 
! blessings on him for the songs he sang — 
3 



34 ijooD. 

Which yearn'd altout the world till then for hirth ! 
How like a bonny bird of God he came, 
And pour'd his heart in music for the Poor , 
AV'ho sit in gloom while sunshine Hoods the land. 
And feel, tlirough darkness, for the hand of Help ! 
And trampled Manhood heard, and claimed his 

crown , 
And trampled Womanhood sprang up ennobled ! 
'I'he human soul lookt radiantly through rags ! 
And tliere was melting of cold hearts, as when 
The ripening sunlight fingers frozen flowers. 
O ! blessings on him for the songs he sang ! 
When all the stars of happy thought had set 
In many a mind, his spirit walkt the gloom 
Clothed" on with beauty, as the regal Moon- 
AValks her night-kingdom, turning clouds to light. 
Our Champion ! with his heart too big to beat 
In bonds, — our Poet in his pride of power ' 
Ay, we'll remember him who fought our fight, 
And chose the Martyr's robe of flame, and spurn'd 
The gold and purple of the glistering slave. 
His Mausoleum is the People's heart, 
There he lies crown'd and glorified, — our King 
In state, with singing robe wrapt richly round. 
But 'tis not meet, my England, his dear dust 
Should lie where splendid flatteries flaunt on tombs, 
As treachery serves to brighten -^^anton tears — 
With not a line of letter'd love to tell 
What mighty heart lies quencht and broken there. 
So let us build our Poet's monument ! 
With passionate hearts of love for corner-stones, 
And tears that temper for immortal fame. 
And it were well, my England, should'st thou come 
To weep some honest drops above his grave. 
Our Hood is worthier of eternal praise 
And ])l(>ssing8, and dear heart-immunities, 
Than warrior Wellington, who rode to fame 
On Death's white horse by Battle's crimson path.,. 



THE SINGER. 



THE SINGER. 



35 



Up out of the Corn the Lark caroll'd in light, 
Like a new splendor sprung from the dark husk of 

Night, 
Green light shimmer'd laughing o'er forest and sod ; 
The rich sky was full of the presence of God, 
As with brave careless rapture he lavisht around 
Rare violet fancies and rose-leaves of sound : 
All thro' the Morn's sun-city sea-like his psalm 
With melodious waves dasht the bright world of 

calm : 
But heavily hung the droopt ears or the Corn : 
They were gathering gold in the dewy Morn. 

And he sang, as on heaven's fire-grains he had fed, 
Till his heart's merry wine had made drunken his 

head. 
How he sang! as his honey in Life's cells ne'er 

dwindled. 
And beale-fires of Joy on all Life's hills were 

kindled : 
! he sang, as he felt that to singing was given 
The magic to ])uild rainbow-stairways to heaven ! 
And he could not have sung with more lusty cheer, 
Had all the world listened a-tiptoe to hear ! 
All the while heavily hung the Corn, 
And its drowsy ears heard not the "Sweetheart 

or Morn. 



36 ICHABOD. 



ICIIABOD. 

Seven Summers' Sims have set ! and earth is once 
more sweetly flooded 

With fragrance, for the virgin-leaves, and violet- 
banks have budded : 

Heaven claspeth Earth, as round the heart first 
broodeth Love's rich glow ; 

A blush of Flowers is mantling where the lush 
green grasses grow ! 

All things feel summering sunward, golden tides 
flood down the air. 

Which burns, as Angel-visitants had left a glory- 
there ! 

But darkness on my aching spirit shrouds the 
merry shine, — 

I long to feel a gush of Spring in this poor heart of 
mine. 

Morn opes Heaven's opal portal, back the golden 

gates are drawn. 
And all the fields of glory blossom with the crimson 

Dawn : 
But never comes thy clasping hand, or carol of thy 

lips. 
That made my heart sing like a God, when burst- 
ing Death's eclipse. 
Sweet voice! it came like saintly music, quiring 

angels make. 
When pain sat heavy on my brow, and heart was 

like to break : 
Methought such love gave Avings to climb some 

starry throne to win ; 
Thou didst so lift my life's horizon — letting heaven 

in. 
I'm thinking, darling, of the days when life was 

all divine, 



ICHABOD. 37 

And love was aye the silver chord that bound my 

heart to thine ; 
When life bloom 'd at thy coming, as the green 

earth greets the sun, 
And, like two dew-drops in a kiss, our twin souls 

wed in one. 
Ah ! still I feel ye at my heart ! and, 'mid the stir 

and strife, 
Ye sometimes lead my feet to walk the angel-side 

of Life ! 
The magic music yearns within, as unto thee I turn, 
And those brave eyes, a-blaze with soul, thro' all 

my being burn. 

Come back, — come back ; I long to clasp thee in 

these arms, mine own ; 
Lavish my heart upon thy lips, and make my love 

the Crown 
And Arc of Triumph to thy life. Why tarry? 

Time hath cast 
Strange shadows on my spirit since we met and 

mingled last ! 
Yet there be joys to crown thee with, the sunshine 

and the sweet 
Are hived, like honey, in my heart, to share them 

when we meet : 
How I have hoarded up my life ! how tenderly I 

strove 
To make my heart fit home for thee, its nestling 

Bird of love ! 

God bless thee ! once the radiant world thy beauty 

crown-like wore, 
But life hath lost a tender grace that cometh never 

more ! 
The flowers will bud again in Sj)ring, and happy 

birds make love, 
With melting hearts, a-brooding o'er their passion 

in the grove. 



38 NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. 

But thou wilt never more come back, to clothe my 

heart with Spring ; 
Dear God ! Love's sweetest chord is turn'd to Pain's 

most jarring string ! 
The Glory hath departed ! and my spirit pants 

to go 
\\ here 'mid Life's troubled waters, 'twill not see 

the wreck below. 



NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. 

One of God's own Darlings was my bosom's nest- 
ling Dove, 
"With her looks of love and sunshine, and her 
voice so rich and low : 
How it trembled through my life, like an Immor- 
tal's kiss of love ! 
How its music yearns thro' all my memory 
now! 

Oh ! her beauty rainbows round me, and her sweet 
smile, silverly 
As a song, fills all the silence of the Midnight's 
charmed hours ; 
And I know from out her grave she'll send her 
love in death to me. 
By the Spring in smiling utterance of Flowers. 

! my Love, too good for Earth, has gone into the 
world of light ; 
It was hard, slie said, to leave me, but the Lord 
had need of her ; 
And she walks the heavens in glory, like a Star i' 
the crown of Night, 
W-ith the Beautiful and Blessed minslinor there. 



THE CUITALRY OF LABOR. 39 

Gone before me, to be clothed on %Yith bridal robe 
of white, 
Where Love's blossom flowers to fruit of Knowl- 
edge, — Suffering 's glorified ! 
And my love shall make me meet and worthy of 
her presence bright. 
That in heaven I may claim her as my Bride, 



THE CHIVALRY OF LABOR. 

TJpROUSE ye now, brave brotlier-band, 
With honest heart, and working hand : 
We are but few, toil-tried, and true, 
Yet hearts beat high to dare and do : 
And who would not a Champion be 
In Labor's lordlier Chivalry? 

We fight ! but bear no bloody brand, 
We fight to free our Fatherland : 
We fight that smiles of love may glow 
On lips where curses quiver now ! 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! true Knights are we 
In Labor's lordlier Chivalry. 

! there be hearts that ache to see 

The day-dawn of our victory : 

Eyes full of heart-break with us plead, 

And Watchers weep, and Martyrs bleed : 

! who would not a Champion be 

In Labor's lordlier Chivalry ? 

Work, Brothers mine ; work, hand and brain 
AVe'll win the Golden Age again : 
And Love's Millennial morn shall rise 
In happy hearts, and blessed eyes. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! true Knights are we 
In Labor's lordlier Chivalry. 



40 TUE CHIVALRY OF LABOR, ETC. 



•J 



THE CHIVALRY OF LABOR EXHORTED 
TO THE WORSHIP OF BEAUTY. 

Our world oft turns in gloom, and Life hath many 

a perilous Avay, 
Yet there's no path so desolate and thorny, cold 

and gray, 
But Beauty like a Beacon burns above the dark of 

strife, 
And like an Alchemist aye turns all things to 

golden life. 
On human hearts her presence droppeth precious 

manna down, 
On human brows her glory gathers like a coming 

crown : 
Her smile lights up Life's troubled stream, and 

Love, the swimmer ! lives ; 
And 'tis brave to battle for the guerdon that she 

gives ! 
Then let us worship Beauty with the knightly faith 

of old, 
Chivalry of Labor toiling for the Age of Gold ! 

The first-fruits of the Past at Beauty's shrine are 
offer'd up, 

From which a vintage meet for Gods she crusheth 
in her cup : 

And from the living Present doth she press tlie rare 
new wine, 

To glad tlic hearts of all her lovers with a draught 
divine. 

Earth's crowning miracle ! she comes ! with bless- 
ing lips, tiiat ]>art 

Like mid-May's rose iiusht open with the fragrance 
of her heart : 



THE CHIVALRY OF LABOR, ETC. 41 

And life turns to her color — kindles with her light 
— like flowers 

That garner up the golden fire, and suck the mel- 
low showers. 

Come let us worship Beauty with the knightly faith 
of old, 

Chivalry of Labor toiling for the Age of Gold I 

Come let us worship Beauty where the budding 

Spring doth flower, 
And lush green leaves and grasses flush out sweeter 

every hour ; 
Or Summer's tide of splendor floods the lap o' the 

World once more, 
With riches like a sea that surges jewels on its shore. 
Come feel her ripening influence when Morning 

feasts our eyes — 
Thro' open gates of glory — with a glimpse of 

Paradise : 
Or queenly Night sits crowned, smiling down the 

purple gloom. 
And Stars, like Heaven's fruitage, melt i' the glory 

of their bloom. 
Come let us worship Beauty with the knightly faith 

of old, 
Chivalry of Labor toiling for the Age of Gold ! 

Come from the den of darkness and the city's soil 

of sin, 
Put on your radiant Manhood, and the Angel's 

blessing win ! 
Where wealthier sunlight comes from Heaven, like 

welcome-smiles of God, 
And Earth's blind yearnings leap to life in flowers, 

from out the sod : 
Come worship Beauty in the forest- temple, dim 

and hush, 
Where stands Magnificence dreaming ! and God 

burneth in the bush : 



42 WHEN I COME HOME. 

Or where the old hills worship with their silence 

for a psalm, 
Or ocean's weary heart doth keep the sabbath of 

its calm. 
Come let us worship Beauty with the knighlly faith 

of old, 
Chivalry of Labor toiling for the Age of Gold ! 

Come let us worship Beauty : she hath subtle 

power to start 
Heroic word and deed out-flashing from the hum- 
blest heart : 
Great feelings will gush unawares, and freshly as 

the first 
Rich Rainbow that up startled Heaven in tearful 

splendor burst. 
blessed are her lineaments, and wondrous are 

her ways 
To rcpicture God's worn likeness in the suffering 

lunuan face ! 
Our bliss shall richly overbrim like sunset in the 

west, 
And we shall dream immortal dreams and banquet 

with the Blest. 
Then let us worship Beauty with the knightly faith 

of old, 
Chivalry of Labor toiling for the Age of Gold ! 



WHEN I COME HOME. 

Around me Life's hell of fierce Ardors burns. 
When I come home, when I come home ; 

Over me Heaven with her starry heart yearns, 
When I come home, when I come home. 

For the feast of Gods garnisht, the palace of Night 

At a thousand star-windows is throbbing; with light. 



WHEN I COME HOME. 43 

London makes mirth ! but I know God hears 
The sobs i' the dark, and the dropping of tears ; 
For I feel that he listens down Night's great dome — 
When I come home, when I come home. 
Home, home, when I come home, 
Far i' the night when I come home. 

I walk \inder Night's triumphal arch, 

When I come home, when I come home. 
Exulting with life like a Conqueror's march. 
When I come home, when I come home. 
I pass by the rich-chamber'd mansions that shine, 
Overflowing with splendor like goblets with wine : 
I have fought, I have vanquisht, the dragon of 

Toil, 
And before me my golden Hesperides smile ! 
And but Love's flowers make rich the gloom, 
When I come home, when I come home ! 
Home, home, when I come home. 
Far i' the night when I come home. 

the sweet, merry mouths up-turn'd to be kist, 

When I come home, when I come home ! 
How the younglings yearn from the hungry nest, 

When I come home, when I come home ! 
My weary, worn heart into sweetness is stirr'd. 
And it dances and sings like a singing Bird, 
On the branch nighest heaven, — a-top of my life : 
As I clasp thee, my winsome, wooing Wife ! 
And thy pale cheek with rich, tender passion doth 

bloom 
When I come home, when I come home, 
Home, home, when I come home. 
Far i' the night when I come home. 

Clouds furl off" the shining face of my life. 
When I come home, Avhen I come home, 

And leave heaven bare on thy bosom, sweet Wife! 
When I come home, when I come home. 



44 TUE THREE SPIRITS. 

With her smiling Energies, — Faith warm and 

briglit, — 
With Love glory-crown'd and serenely aliglit — 
With her womanly beauty and ((UCH'nly calm, 
She steals to my heart with her blessing of balm ; 
And but the wine of love sparkles with foam, 
When I come home, when I come homo ! 

Home, home, when I come home ! 

Far i' the night when 1 come homo. 



THE THREE SPIRITS. 

They were three Spirits fn^sh from God's own hand, 

And beautifuller ne'er took mortal mould, 

They had worn vestures of the undefiled, 

At spirit-spousals sang the nuptial song, 

Sat down with Gods and Heroes, held high converse 

AV'ith Milton and the mighty men of old, 

Divine old Socrates and deathless sages, 

The martyr'd l^rophets and the w^irrior-saints, 

Who fought as we do now, and wrestled down 

Doul)t's grim desjxiirs, -with pangs and quenchless 

faith. 
Glory tiara'd their immortal brows, 
Their lips were yet alive with seraph-fire. 
And locks ))edr()pt rich dews of j^iradiso : 
They lookt a fore-taste and fore-feel of heaven. 
Christ-like they came to wear old Earth's life- 
harness. 
And yoke tiieir fiery sun-steeds in her furrows. 
They'came to battle, toil in tears, and pray, 
" Our fatlier,'' witli the family of Men. 
'Twas midnight in the liusht and moonlit land, 
The heavens had on their silver robe of stars, 
And eartli had on her silver rolw of dew, 
AVhen they first lookt like smiles of God, through 
eyes 



THE THREE SPIRITS. 45 

Where struggling heaven- light shone half-drown 'd 

in tears, 
As rainy sunbeams strike a watery world . 
They grew sweet babes, where fond hearts set 

Love's throne, 
Heaven breathed about them, Angels sang to them. 
And joy was with them in their innocence. 
Their dawn of being broadcn'd into day, 
And they had sprung to Manhood unawares. 
The lusty blood ran brave fire in their veins, 
Life's surging waves, with them, were at mad- 
plunge. 
And plough'd the passionate heart with tempest- 
beat. 
Then high thoughts burst like battle on their souls. 
Rousing and stern as in the noon of night 
The clarion's clangor smites a sleeping host ! 
And gorgeous Visions, glory-clad, swept by. 
Sinew and thew were strung to win at least 
The table-land that girds the mount of Fame. 
And one went down to moil in Mammon's mine, 
For love of Gold ; tlienceforth in his warpt heart. 
The Devil at death-grips set himself to God, 
And day by day worm'd out some trace divine ! 
Day unto day. Gold rotted out the soul. 
Still he toil'd on for Gold, sweet ! damning Gold ! 
The poor man's sweat, and tears, and blood, 

congeal' d ; 
And he waxt wealthy ! all around him rose 
The hoarded heaps, like trophies after battle. 
Or tribute-treasure flung at Monarchs' feet. 
He turn'd to what he feci on, dust to dust ; 
The angel-plumes once moulted, grew no more ! 
The God dwarft in him, and his heart was hoary 
Before Time's silver mark had blancht his brow. 
And one up-reared a fame which stood apart 
In the world's gaze, as 'mid old Tadmor's ruins 
Some column loometh in the eye of sunset. 
He crown'd with a beacon-fire the reef which 
wreckt 



46 THE THREE SPIRITS. 

The mio-hty of all time. His marvellous name 

Moved lueii's tongues regally as Euroclydon, 

The storm-wind ! -wakes the voices of old ocean. 

Leviathan of blood ! what crimson seas 

He spilt to revel in ; his path to empire 

AVas wasted hearts and desolated lands. 

The other trode the world's face poor as Christ, 

Drank gall and Avormwood ; lived Gethsemane, 

In many a midnight solitude of heart ! 

Loved, hoped, and nurst large faith in human-kind, 

AV'ept glorious tears that telescope the soul. 

And bring heaven nearer to the eyes of Faith ! 

The hounds of hell bay'd at him, hoary Evil 

Breathed ])lighting influences on his heart, 

To turn it to a U})as-tree. and kill 

All nestling birds of love. With tears and travail 

lie walkt the furnace, trode Earth's stony ways, 

And beat his rugged path with bleeding feet. 

Yet nought bore down his heart, or blencht his 

taith. 
And many a cloud-rift radiantly rent, 
Dropt blessing dear as parted lips of love. 
From sufl'ering he Avon strength to throw the world ; 
And when the fight ran sorest, his roused spirit 
Went forth a Conqueror ! Avrapt in robes of victory. 
Amid the mirk and mire, he kept his heart 
A temple for tlie Beautiful ! all Avarm 
And bright, with blessed light of Love, that win- 
dow 
Of our dim life, which ever opes on God ! 
He trimmed Love's lamp in poor men's hearts and 

homes. 
And in the world's Avaste places his life blossom'd. 
So each built up a life. Time's scaflblding 
Fell from them, and they stood in God's eye bare ! 
Into the silent land, they pass'd the Grave, 
AVhich Spring had made a beautiful gate of floAvers; 
On Avings of Avimder Avon the starry threshold 
Of God, Avhere like to like is gauged and garnered. 



THE THREE SPIRITS. 47 

They stood where Paradise uprear'd its portals, 

And shook down splendors, palpitated bliss — 

Like a town full of triumph, — heart of love. 

in that hour how shook the rich man's soul ! 

He stood there beggar'd, poorest of the poor ! 

Gold Avould not purchase heaven ; and if it might, 

Eternity ran 'twixt him and his riches : 

And he went wailing with his world of woe. 

The other had gambled for a life, and lost, 

Let slip his chance for an eternity ! 

For fame, had barter 'd an immortal birthright ; 

For name on earth had sold Heaven's heritage ; 

And there the gates of glory on him closed. 

The poor man came, and his meek tearful eyes 

Grew luminous, as lit with sudden sun. 

Divinity leapt up full-statured, when 

His life burst its worn manacle of clay. 

And wore God's splendor round it like a raiment. 

Throbbing with glory like a michiight star, 

All Heaven was husht to hear the Lord's " Well 

done." 
Then shining hosts and quiring orbs sang "Wel- 
come," 
And angels crown'd him in their Capitol. 
For in his heart he kept God's image bright. 
Love was his life-blood. Thro' the long work- 
day — 
The dark and terrible night-time — aye, to death, 
He nurst his love : and God himself is love. 
And there l)e none of all the poorest poor 
That walk the world, worn heart-bare, none so 

poor 
But they may bring a little human love 
To mend the world. And God himself is love. 



48 TO-DAY" AND TO-MORROW. 



TO-DAY AND TO-MOPtRO\Y. 

IIiGD hopes tliat burn'd like Stars sublime, 

Go down i' the Heavens of Freedom ; 
And true hearts perish in the time 

We bitterliest need 'em ! 
But never sit we down and say 

There's notliing left but sorrow : 
We walk the Wilderness To-day, 

The Promised Land To-morrow. 

Our birds of song are silent now, 

There are no flowers blooming ! 
Yet life beats in the frozen bough, 

And Freedom's Spring is coming ! 
And Freedom's tide comes up alway, 

Tho' we may strand in sorrow : 
And our good Bark, a-ground To-day, 

Shall float again To-morrow. 

Thro' all the long, dark night of years 

The People's cry ascendeth. 
And Earth is wet with blood and tears : 

But our meek suflerance endeth ! 
The Few shall not for ever sway, 

The Many moil in sorrow : 
The Powers of Hell are strong To-day, 

But Christ shall rise To-morrow. 

Tho' hearts brood o'er the Past, our eyes 

With smiling Futures glisten ! 
For, lo ! our day bursts up the skies : 

Lean out your souls and listen ! 
The world rolls Freedom's radiant way. 

And ripens with her sorrow : 
Keep heart ! who bear the Cross To-day, 

Shall wear the Crown To-morrow. 



HUSBAND AND WIFE, 49 

Youth ! flame-earnest, still aspire, 

With energies immortal ! 
To many a heaven of Desire, 

Our yearning opes a portal ! 
And tho' Age wearies by the way. 

And hearts break in the farrow. 
We'll sow the golden grain To-day, — 

The Harvest comes To-morrow. 

Build up heroic lives, and all 

Be like a sheathen sabre. 
Ready to flash out at God's call, 

Chivalry of Labor ! 
Triumph and Toil are twins : and aye 

Joy suns the cloud of Sorrow ; 
And 'tis the martyrdom To-day, 

Brings victory To-morrow. 



HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

0, PROUDLY I stood in the rare Sunrise, 

As the dawn of your beauty brake ; 
But I fear'd for the storm, as I lookt at the skies, 

And trembled for your sweet sake ! 
And 0, may the evil days come not, I said, 

As I yearn 'd o'er my tender blossom ! 
Strong arm of love ! shelter the dear one's head : 

And I nestled you in my bosom. 
May the tears never dim the love-light of her eye, — 

May her Life be all Spring-weather ! — 
Was the prayer of my heart, ere you, Love, and I, 

Were Husband and Wife together. 

But the suns will shine, and the rains will fall, 

On the loftiest, lowliest spot ! 
And there's mourning and merriment mingled for all 

That inherit the human lot. 



50 HUSBAND AND AVIFE. 

So we've suflPer'd and sorrow'd and grown more 
strong, 

Ileart-to-heart, side-by-side, we have striven. 
With the love that makes summer-tide all the year 
long, 

And the heart that is its own heaven ! 
We clung the more close as the storm swept by, 

And kept the nest warm in cold weather : 
And seldom we've falter 'd since you. Love, and I, 

Have been Hus])aud and AVife together ! 

Like the sweet wild flowers of the wilderness, 

You have dwelt life to life with Nature ; 
And caught the wild beauty and grace of her ways. 

And grown to her heavenlier stature ! 
In golden calm, and in quickening strife. 

Hath your wonumly worth unfoldon : 
And sunshine and show'r have enricht your life, 

And ripen'd its liarvcst golden. 
There is good in the grimmest cloud o' the sky. 

There arc blessings in wintry weather : 
Even grief hath its glory, since you, Love, and I, 

Have been husband and Wife together. 

0, Life is not perfect with Love's first kiss : 

Who would win the blessing must wrestle ; 
And the deeper the sorrow, the dearer the bliss, 

That in its rich core may nestle ! 
Our Angels oft greet us in tearful guise, 

And our saviours come in sorrow : 
While the murkiest midnight that frowns from the 
skies. 

Is at heart a radiant Morrow I 
We laugh and we crj, we sing and we sigh, 

And Life will have wintr}^ weather! 
So we'll hope, and love on, since you. Love, and I, 

Are husband and Wife together. 



NO JEWELLED BEAUTY IS MY LOVE. 51 



NO JEWELLED BEAUTY IS ISIY LOVE. 

No jewelled Beauty is my Love, 

Yet in her earnest face 
There's such a world of tenderness, 

She needs no other grace. 
Her smiles, and voice, around my life 

In light and music twine. 
And dear, very dear to me, 

Is this sweet Love of mine. 

joy ! to know there's one fond heart, 

Beats ever true to me : 
It sets mine leaping like a lyre, 

In sweetest melody : 
My soul up-springs, a Deity ! 

To hear her voice divine. 
And dear, very dear to me, 

Is this sweet Love of mine. 

If ever I have sigh'd for wealth, 

'Twas all for her, I trow ; 
And if I win Fame's victor-wreath, 

I'll twine it on her brow. 
There may be forms more beautiful, 

And souls of sunnier shine, 
But none, none, so dear to me, 

As this sweet Love of mine. 



52 THE KINGIilEST KINGS. 



THE KINGLIEST KINGS. 

Ho ! ye who in a noble work 

Win scorn, as flames draw air, 
And in the way where Lions lurk, 
God's image bravely bear ; 
Tho' trouble-tried, and torture-torn, 
The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn. 

Life's glory, like the bow in heaven, 

Still springeth from the cloud ; 
And soul ne'er soar'd the starry Seven, 
But Pain's fire-chariot rode. 
They've battled best who've boldliest borne. 
The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn. 

The Martyr's fire-crown on the brow 

Doth into glory burn : 
And tears that from Love's torn heart flow, 
To pearls of spirit turn. 
Our dearest hopes in pangs are born, 
The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn. 

As beauty in Death's cerement shrouds. 

And Stars bejewcl Night, 
God-splendors live in dim heart-clouds. 
And suffering worketh miglit. 
The mirkiest hour is mother o' I\Iorn, 
The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn. 



MARTYRS FOR HUNGARY AND ROME, 53 

MARTYRS FOR HUNGARY AND ROME. 
1850. 

They are gone ! 
"When on earthquake-edge they slumbered, 

Who have man accurst ; 
And Hope's blossoms, many-numbered. 

Into flower burst ; 
When our hearts like throbbing drums. 
Beat for Freedom ; sang, She comes ! 
God ! they stumbled among tombs. 

They are gone ! 
Freedom's strong ones, young and hoary, 

Beautiful in faith ! 
And her first dawn-blush of glory 

Gilds their camp of death ! 
There they lie in shrouds of blood ; 
Murder'd, where for right they stood — 
Murder'd, Christ-like, doing good. 

They are gone ! 
And 'tis good to die up-giving 

Valor's vengeful breath. 
To make Heroes of the living, — 

Thus divine is death. 
One by one, dear hearts ! they've left us, 
Yet Hope hath not all bereft us : 
Still we man the breach they cleft us. 

They are here ! 
Here, where life ran ruddy rain. 

When power from God seem'd wrencht r 
Here, where tears fall — molten brain ! 

And hands are agony-clencht I 



54 



Look, Love lifts the veil ; ah ! now 

There's a glory, where the glow 

Of Pain's tire-crown seam'd each brow. 

They are here ! 
In the Etna of each heart, 

AVhere A^engeance laughs hell-mirth, 
In the silent tears that start 

O'er their glorious worth ! 
Tears ? ay, tears of tire, proud Weepers ! 
For these soul-sepultured sleepers : 
Fire ! to smite Death's blood-seed reapers. 

They are here ! 
With us in the march of time. 

Beating at our side ! 
Let us live their lives sublime. 

Die as they have died ! 
AVait : these Martyrs yet shall come, 
Myriad-fold, from their heart tomb! 
In the Tyrant's day of doom. 



LOA^E ME. 

" All dear as the feeling when first-flowers start, 

Thou cam'st in thy musical lightness : 
And tiie cloud wept itself in rich rain on my heart, 

That had hidden thy beauty and brightness 
'Twas as Life's topmost window oped suddenly, 
bright 

AYith the glittering face of an Angel, 
The sweet secret out-flasht on thy forehtnid of light. 

And I knew thee, my own love-Evangel ! 
how shall I crown thee. Love, on my heart's 
throne. 

Thou art so far, far above me? " 



love's fairy ring. 55 

And aye as her dear eyes lookt love in mine own, 
The Maiden answered, " Love me." 

" My Beloved is fair as some beautiful star 

That walks in an air of glory ; 
And her large-hearted looks and her lineaments are 

As some Queen's of the old Greek story ! 
There's never night now, since those dear eyes of 
thine 

Smiled on me their soft sweet splendor, 
And I drank of the wine of thy kisses divine : 

what for such love shalll render? " 
And aye, as I knelt at my true Love's shrine. 

She bent in her beauty above me : 
And aye, as her sweet eyes lookt love into mine, 

The Maiden answered, " Love me." 

" could my heart, mountain-region 'd in bliss, 

Thy life with Love's affluence dower, 
Thou should'st have heaven in a world e'en like this. 

And the joy of a life in each hour I 
Thou should'st go forth like a conquering queen, 

Reaping rich heartfuls of treasure. 
Nor strive where the worn of heart wearily glean 

But handfuls, in harvesting pleasure." 
And aye, as I knelt at my true Love's shrine. 

She bent in her beauty above me : 
And aye, as her sweet eyes lookt love into mine. 

The Maiden answered, " Love me." 



LOVE'S FAIRY RING. 

While Titans war with social Jove, 
My own sweet wife and I 

We make Elysium in our love. 
And let the world go by ! 



50 love's fairy ring. 

never hearts beat half so light 
"With crowned Queen or King I 

never world was half so bright 
As is our fairy -ring, 

Dear love ! 
Our hallowed fairy-ring. 

Our world of empire is not large, 

But priceless wealth it holds ; 
A little heaven links marge to marge. 

But what rich realms it folds I 
And clasping all from outer strife 

Sits Love with fblden wing, 
A-brood o'er dearer life-in-life, 

Within our fairy-ring, 

Dear love ! 

Our liallowed fairy-ring. 

Thou leanest thy true heart on mine, 

And bravely bearcst up ! 
Aye mingling Love's most precious wino 

In Life's most })itter cup ! 
And evermore the circling hours 

New gifts of glory bring ; 
We live and love like happy flowers, 

All in our fairy -ring, 

Dear love ! 

Our hallowed fairy-ring. 

We've known a many sorrows, Sweet ! 

AVe've wei)t a many tears. 
And often trod with trembling feet 

Our pilgrimage of years. 
But when our sky grew dark and wild, 

All closelier did we cling : 
Clouds broke to beauty as you smiled, 

Peace crown'd our fairy-ring, 

Dear love ! 
Our hallowed fairy -ring. 



NEW tear's eve in EXILE. 57 

Away grim Lords of Murderdom ; 

Away, Hate, and Strife ! 
Hence, revellers, reeling drunken from 

Your feast of human life ! 
Heaven shield our little Goshen round, 

From ills that with them spring. 
And never be their footprints found 

Within our fairy-ring. 

Dear love ! 

Our hallowed fairy-ring. 

But, come ye who the Truth dare own, 

Or work in Love's dear name ; 
Come all who wear the Martyr's crovm — 

The Mystic's robe of flame I 
Sweet souls, a Christless world doth doom 

Like birds smote blind to sing — 
For such, we'll aye make welcome room 

"Within our fairy -ring. 

Dear love ! 

Our hallowed fairy-ring. 



NEW YEAR'S EVE IN EXILE. 

Warriors of Freedom who for heritage 
Wear on their brows a mark as curst as Cain's, 
The flower and chivalry of many hinds 
Betrothed to Martyrdom as to a Bride, — 
Had met together, a strange companie ! 
But brothers, battling in one sacred cause. 
They were heroic souls who had lain life's all 
On Freedom's hungry Altar, and gone forth 
Clad in the spirit of self-sacrifice, 
To roam a thankless world with homeless hearts. 
Men who had tost on Danger's wildest waves, 
For whom a radiant victory ever shone : 



58 NEW year's eve in exile. 

Like Hero on her watch-tower with her torch, 
Lighting her lover through the shadow of death, — 
Men who liad broken Battk'*s burning lines, 
Dealing life Avith their looks, death with their 

hands, 
And strode like Salamanders through AVar's flame ; 
And in the last stern charge of desjierate valor, 
On Death's scythe dasht with force that turn'd its 

edge. 
Some were but youths, yet with such manhood 

flusht, 
By eager leaps to catch at lordlier life. 
They had attained the old heroic stature. 
Some had grown gray with battle, some with years, 
And there were ancient Sorrows grand as kings, 
Of an old peerless line. Such silent CJriefs 
And Sufferings crown'd for immortality. 
Earnest as fire they sate, and reverent 
As though a God were present in their midst : 
Stern, but serene and hopeful, prayerful, brave, 
As Cromwell's Ironsides on an eve of battle ; 
Each individual life as clencht and knit, 
As though beneath their robes their fingers clutcht 
The weapon sworn to strike a Tyrant down. 
Such proud Belief did lift their kindling brows, 
Such glowing purpose hunger'd in their eyes, 
AYith fire enough to set a world in flames. 
No servile souls, that at your flxed look. 
Like meek worms, writhe into their darkening 

holes. 
And One up-rose to word the Thought that ran 
Hot to their hearts and glittering to their brows ; 
An old man, with the mournfuirst, thin, gray hair ; 
The lines of suflering in his face seem'd drawn 
Tight with the mortal tug of Agony; 
But witli sad majesty he smiled, and splendor 
Broke sweetly from the furrows of his face, 
As wrinkles on the waters laugh with light. 
Dilating as a Prophet's wings of flame 



NEW year's E7E IN EXILE. 59 

Flutter 'd within him — all his aspect burn'd 
With an unearthly fire. He was caught up 
The mount Transfiguration, with eyes fixt 
On air, as though he talkt with one be^^ond. 
He stood there looking down the unseen time. 
Like some hoar Hill that lifts its solemn peak 
To catch the unrison Morn, while all the plains 
Are drowsed and darkling. He already sunn'd 
Him in the glory of the coming Day ; 
And his words swept their yielding, springing 

hearts, 
As strong winds take a field of billowing corn. 
" The merry Bells are jubilant To-night 
Through all the land of Exile ; blithe wine laughs 
Its bubbling laughter, — winking gem-like eyes, 
And leaps up in the beaker like red lips 
Whose kisses storm the inner gates of bliss. 
But not with mirth, and song, and dainty feast, 
We meet to hold our solemn festival. 
We wait the wine of Freedom : when it runs 
We shall wax merry, too, — perchance grow 

drunken — 
They keep it ripening to such mellow age ! 
And we shall banquet like Immortals fed 
By Hebe's hand at the Ambrosial feasts. 
The New Year flashes on us sadly grand, 
Leaps in our midst Avith ringing armor on. 
Strikes a mail'd hand in ours, and bids us arm 
Ere the first trumpet sound the hour of onset. 
Dense darkness lies on Europe's winter-world. 
Stealthy and grim the Bear comes creeping on. 
Out of the North, and all the Peoples sleep 
By Freedom's smouldering watch-fire : there is none 
To snatch the brand, and dash it in his face. 
Old England sleeps, and still the Bear creeps on, 
Ah ! she forgetteth how, in the old years, 
The great hearts of her glorious Commomvealth 
Sent thunder-throbbings through the lands, and 

gave them 



CO NEW year's eve in exile. 

Such a new pulse of nobler life : and when 

Their suinles« Venture wreckt, and o'er them roll'd 

The woriinvood waters of defeat and death, 

How in tlieir pleading hands they held the Ba1)e 

And Orphan Liberty, and bade her rear it 

For love of them, and for its own sweet sake. 

And England slinks l)eliind the naticjns now. 

Dim is her Beaeon Despots paled to see 

Burn on them through the dark, like God's stern 

eye. 
Her battle-armor rusteth in her halls, 
And the old mighty arm that struck such blows 
For Right and Freedom, hangeth listless now. 
A dry-rot eats her life : her God is Mammon ! 
God Mars no longer leaps into her heart, 
As in a chariot driving down to battle. 
Her ancient fame and valor have become 
A tale that's told us of forgotten times — 
Some fal)led Kraken slumbering in its sea ! 
! for the voice of Milton once again, 
To make the lion-eyes lighten, and her heart 
As treml)lingly alive as is a Star, 
Till in her naked strength majestical 
She walkt the sun-road of her glorious way. 
But England sleejis — the Ruin still rolls on. 
Earth crouches 'neath the shuddering wings of 

Fear. 
Silent, and very calm. Freedom lies husht. 
And listens like a panting thing pursued, 
Ilarkening, heart-stilled, for the steal thiest tread 
Of Gne that hunts like Tarquin for Luerece. 
'Tis midnight now, and all the ereejting things. 
And Birds of J)arkness, ply their ghastly work. 
Life gropes anil stumbles among gaping graves. 
And Freedom's worshijijiers fall headless, while 
They bend to give their hearts up at her shrine ! 
But God "s in heaven, and yet the Day shall 

dawn — 
Break from the dark upon her golden wings, 



NEW year's eve IX EXILE. 61 

Her quick, ripe splendors rend and burn the gloom, 
Her living tides of glory burst, and foam. 
And hurry along the darken 'd streets of night. 
Cloud after cloud shall light a rainbow-roof, 
And build a Triumph-Arch for conquering Day 
To iiash her beauty — trail her grandeurs through, 
And take the World in her white arms of light. 
And Earth shall fling aside her mask of gloom, 
And lift her tearful tace. O there will be 
Blood on it thick as dews ! The children's blood 
Splasht in the Mother's ftice ! And there must be 
A red sunrise of retribution yet ! 
A mighty future is about to break 
The hush o' the world — the waiting gloom in 

heaven. 
The New Year cometli with a magic key, 
To ope some radiant chamber in Time's palace. 
Our Martyrs have not sown such seed in vain ! 
Beneath old Winter's snows a world of hope 
Lies ripening, and shall rich]y run to flowers. 
When Spring comes dancing like a jubilant Psal- 

tress. 
And free earth kindles as a countenance 
Alive with love, and all the soul alight ! 
come, thou Spring of God, and at thy voice 
The balmy blood shall beat in bud and leaf ! 
And come, thou melloAV rain, fall on it warm, 
And fondle it with kisses, drop rich tears ; 
And blow, thou sweet Spring-wind, and set it 

stirring 
With secret rapture — budding tenderly, 
With all the glory of its folded bloom. 
And all its fragrance striving for the light. 
God, what a Spring and Harvest yet shall crown 
The dark, deru Deluge of Calamity ! 
Then come, thou grand New Year, in silence come 
Across the white snows, and the winter-land. 
Come, great Deliverer, call the peoples up, — 
Up from the Egypt of their slavery ! 



62 NEW year's eve in exile. 

Ring out the dcath-knell of old Tyranny — 
'Tis rotten ripe, and the heart of half the world 
Both beat and burst to hurry it into hell. 
Stride o'er the Present, grand as some huge wave 
Should rush across Panama at a leap, 
And make two Seas one perfect world of waters. 
So link our great Past to a nobler Future, 
And set our new world singing on its way, 
AYith sunsliine freighted, like a heart of bliss, 
Her Life's rich tide at Glory's high flood-mark. 
A little while, and we shall yet return 
Each to the Fatherland, like kings to conquest. 
Liglit breaks there ! in the East : it grows, and 

soon 
Shall Freedom's sun roll up the Heaven of Life. 
AYe may not see God's fiice, yet at our side 
He combats for us, with his vizor doAvn. 
But no more words — like weeds they sap the soul 
Of riclmcss that should fill the fruit of deeds. 
Henceforth let lips be dumli, as Bravery — 
Her parley done — had shut her gates, to ope not 
Save for the shouts that chariot Victory forth. 
We are all ready ! AVe have waited long ! 
God strike the hour. Ho ! let the trumpets ring ! " 
He ceased. One shout ran thro' the night, and 

struck 
Heaven's boss of stars, and like a ship went dowa 
In the lone sea of silence flowing round. 
In touching majesty the Stars lookt down. 
As tho' they yearn'd to them with answering pulse, 
And with invisible speed the world roll'd on. 



63 



SONG. 

Like leaves from Autumn's bough, Old Friend, 

Our ripest hopes depart ; 
And there's little left us now. Old Friend, 

To cheer the Patriot's heart. 
The Altars where we knelt. Old Friend, 

Grow desolate and cold, 
And faint is the faith we felt. Old Friend, 

I' the valiant days of old. 

In bloody shrouds they sleep, Old Friend, 

Who could not live as slaves : 
And the living only weep, Old Friend, 

Above their Martyrs' graves ! 
Freedom hath many a wound, Old Friend, 

And, ring'd by hounds of hell. 
She wraps her purple round. Old Friend, 

To fall as Csesar fell. 

The men of blood prevail. Old Friend, 

And, stricken in the night, 
The people's weeping wail. Old Friend, 

Goes praying for the light. 
And yet their day shall come. Old Friend, 

Though we may never hear 
The shouts of Harvest-home, Old Friend, 

Nor see the golden year. 



THE white snow crowns the Hills, and the arms 
of Ether fills. 
In the glory of its loveliness — a presence as of 
light, 



G4 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND rORir-EIGHT. 

And it looks up in Heaven's face with all a Virgin's 
trusting grace : 
So the Maiden walkt on Purity's white height. 
But the Snow will blush for bliss, at the red Dawn's 
fervent kiss ; 
And fall from its high throne, and lose the 
brightness from its brow ; 
And be trodden on the highways, and be trampled 
in the byways : 
So the Maiden's life is stain'd and trampled now. 



EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY-EIGHT. 

People of England, rouse ye from your dreaming I 

Sinew your souls for Freedom's glorious leap : 
Look to the Future, where our day-spring's gleam- 
ing : 
Lo ! a pulse stirs that never more shall sleep 
In the world's heart. Men's eyes flash wide with 
wonder ! 
The Robbers tremble in their mightiest tower. 
Strange words roll o'er their souls with wheels of 
thunder, 
The leaves from Royalty's tree fall hour by 

hour, — 
Earthquakes leap in our Temples, crumbling 
Throne and Power. 

Vampyres have drain'd the human heart's best 
blood, 
Kings robb'd, and Priests have curst us in Gods 
name : 
Out in the midnight of the Past we've stood — 
While fiends of darkness plied their hellish game. 



EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY-EIGHT. 65 

We have been worshipping a gilded crown, 

Which drew heaven's lightning-laughter on our 
head ; 
Chains fell on us as we were bowing down ; 
We deem'd our Gods divine, but lo ! instead — 
Thej are but painted clay, — with morn the 
charm has lied ! 

And this is merry England, — cradling-place 

Of souls self-deified and glory-crown'd ! 
Where smilas made splendor in the Peasant's face, 

And Justice reignd -r- Her awful eyes close- 
bound ! 
Where Toil with open brow went on light-hearted, 

And twain in love Law never thrust apart ? 
How is the glory of our life departed 

From us, who sit and nurse ovir bleeding smart ; 

And slink, afraid to break the laws that break 
the heart ! 

Husht be the Herald on the walls of fame, 

Trumping this People as their Country's j^ride ; 

Weep rather, with your souls on fire with shame : 
See ye not how the palaced knaves deride 

Us flatter'd fools? how priestcraft, strong and 
stealthy , 
Stabs at our freedom through its veil of night, 

And grinds the poor to flush its cofi'ers wealtliy ? 
Hear how the land groans in the grip of Might, 
Then quaff your cup of Wrongs, and laud a 
Briton's "Right." 

There's not a spot in all this flowery land, 

Where Tyranny's cursed brand-mark has not 
been : 
I were it not for its all-blasting hand, 

Dear Christ, what a sweet heaven this might 
have been ! 
5 



DO EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FORTr-EIGHT. 

Has it not hunted forth our spirits brave,- — 

Kill'd the red rose of health whicli crown'd our 
daughters, 
Wedded our living hopes unto the grave, — 

Filled happy homes with strife, the world with 

slaug liters. 
And turn'd oar thoughts to blood — to gall, the 
heart's sweet waters? 

Where is the spirit of our ancient Sires ? 

Who, bleeding, Avrung their Eights from tyran- 
nies olden, 
God-spirits have been here, for Freedom fires 

From out their ashes, to earth's heart enfolden ; 
The mighty dead lie slumbering around, — 

Whose names thrill thro' us as Gods were in the 
air ; 
Life leaps from where their dust makes holy ground : 
Their deeds spring forth in glory, — live ail- 
where, — 
But we are traitors to the trust they bade us bear. 

Go forth, when Night is husht, and heaven is clothed 

With smiling stars that in God's presence roll, 
Feel the stirr'd spirit leap to them betrothed, 
As Angel- wings were fanning in the soul ; 
Feel the hot tears flood in the eyes upturning, 

The tide of goodness heave its ))rightost waves, — 
Then suddenly crush the grand and Godward 
yearning 
With the mad thought that ye are bounden 

slaves ! 
! how long will ye make your hearts its living 
graves '! 

Immortal Liberty ! we see thee stand 

Like Morn juststopt from heaven uj>on a mountain 
With beautiful feet, and blessing-laden hand. 

And heart that welleth Love's most living foun- 
tain ! 



EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY-EIGHT. 67 

I when wilt thou string on the People's lyre 
Joy's broken chord? And on the People's brow 

Set Empire's crown ? Light up thy beacon-fire 
Within their hearts, with an undying glow; 
Nor give us bloqd for milk, as men are drunk 
with now ? 

Curst, curst be war, the World's most fatal glory ! 

Ye wakening nations, burst its guilty thrall ! 
Time waits with out-stretcht hand to shroud the 
gory 
Grim glaive of strife behind Oblivion's pall. 
The Tyrant laughs at swords, the cannon's rattle 

Thunders no terror on his murderous soul. 
Thought, Mind, must conquer Might, and in this 
battle 
The Warrior's cuirass, or the Sophist's stole. 
Shall blunt no lance of light, no onset backward 
roll. 

Old Poets tell us of a golden age. 

When earth was guiltless, — Gods the guests of 
men. 
Ere sin had dimm'd the heart's illumined page, — 

And Sinai-voices say 'twill come again. 
! happy age ! when Love shall rule the heart. 

And time to live shall be the poor man's dower. 
When Martyrs bleed no more, nor exiles smart — 

Mind is the only diadem of power — 

People, it ripens now ! awake ! and strike the 
hour. 

Hearts, high and mighty, gather in our cause. 

Bless, bless, God, and crown their earnest labor, 
Who dauntless fight to wan us equal laws. 

With mental armor, and with spirit-sabre! 
Bless, bless, God ! the proud intelligence. 

That like a sun dawns on the People's forehead, — 
Humanity springs from them like incense, 



68 TUE FATRIOT. 

The future bursts upon them, boundless — star- 

ried, — 
They weep repentant tears, that thej so long 

have tarried. 



THE PATRIOT. 

Ay, Tyrants, build your Babels ! forge your fet- 
ters ! link your ehains ! 
As brims your guilt-eup fuller, ours of grief ebbs 

to the drains ; 
Still, as on Clirist's brow, cro^vns of thorn for 

Freedom's ^Martyrs twine ; 
Still batten on live hearts, and madden, o'er the 

hot blood-wine. 
Murder men sleeping, or awake, — torture them 

dumb with pain. 
And tear, with hands all bloody red. Mind's 

jewels from the brain ! 
Your feet are on us, Tyrants — strike! and hush 

Earth's wail of sorrow : 
Your sword of power, so red to-day, shall kiss the 

dust to-morrow. 
! but 'twill be a merry day, the world shall set 

apart, 
When Strife's last band is broken in the last 

cro\ni'd Tyrant's heart ! 
And it shall come, — despite of Rifle, Rope, and 

Rack, and Seafl'old, 
Once more we lift the earnest brow, and battle on 

unljaflled . 

Our hopes ran mountains high, we sang at heart, 

wept tears of gladness, 
When France, the bravely beautiful, dasht down 

her sceptred madness ; 



THE PATRIOT. 69 

And Hungary her dne-hearted race of mighty he- 
roes hurl'd 

In the death-gap of the nations, as a bulwark for 
the world. 

Hungary ! gallant Hungary ! grand and glorious 
thou AA^ert, 

The World's soul feeding, like a river, gushing 
from God's heart ; 

And Rome, — who, while her Heroes bled, felt her 
old breast heave higher. 

How her eyes redden'd with the flash of all their 
Roman fire ! 

Mothers of children, who shall live the Gods of fu- 
ture story ! 

Your blood shall blossom from the dust, and crown 
the world with glor}^ 

Ye '11 tread them down yet ! curse and crown, Czar, 
Kaiser, King, and slave. 

And Freedom shall be sovran in the courts of fool 
and knave. 

Wail for the hopes that have gone down ! the 
young life vainly spilt ! 

Th' Eternal Murder still sits crown'd, and throned 
in damning guilt : 

Still in God's golden sun the Tyrant's bloody ban- 
ners burn. 

And Priests, — Hell's midnight Thugs ! — to their 
soLil-strangling work return ! 

See how the oppressors of the poor with serpents 
hunt our blood ; 

Hear from the dark, the groan and curse go mad- 
dening up to God. • 

They kill and trample us poor worms, till earth is 
dead men's dust ; 

Death's red tooth daily drains our hearts, but end, 
ay, end it must. 

The herald of our coming Christ leaps in the womb 
of Time ; 



70 THE PATRIOT. 

The poor's grand army treads the Age's march with 

step 8ul)liino. 
Ours is the mighty future ! and what marvel, 

brother men, 
If the devoured of ages should turn devourers then ? 

! brotliors of the bounding heart, I look thro' 

tears and smile. 
Our land is rife with sounds of fetters snappino; 
'neath the file ; . ' ' ° 

1 lay my hand on England's heart, and in each 

life-throb mark, 
The pealing thought of Freedom ring its Tocsin in 

the dark. 
I see the Toiler hath become a glorious Christ-like 

preacher, 
And, as he wins a crust, stands proudly forth, the 

great Avorld-teaclier ; 
He still toils on, but, Tyrants, 'tis a mighty thing 

Avhen slaves, 
Who delve tlieir lives into their work, know that 

they delve your graves. 
Anarchs ! your doom comes swiftly ! brave and 

eagle spirits clim]^. 
To ring Oppression's death-knell from the old 

watcii-towers of time ; 
A spirit of Cromwellian might is stirring at this 

hour, 
And thought is burning in men's eyes with more 

than speechful power. 

Old England, cease ' the mummer's part! wake, 
Starveling J Serf, and Slave ! 

Rouse in the majesty of wrong, great kindred of the 
brave ! 

Speak, and the world shall answer, with her voices 
myriad-fold, 

And men, like Gods, shall grapple with the giant- 
wrongs of old. 



A lover's fancy. 71 

Now, Mothers of the people, give your babes heroic 
milk ; 

Sires, soul your sons to daring deeds, no more soft 
words of silk ; 

Great spirits of the mighty dead take shape, and 
walk our mind, 

Their glory smites ovir upward look, we seem no 
longer blind ; 

They tell ug how they broke their bonds, and whis- 
per, " So may ye," 

One sharp, stern struggle, and the slaves of cen- 
turies are free ! 

The people's heart, with pulse like cannon, panteth 
for the fray, 

And, brothers, gallant brothers, we'll be with you 
in that day. 



A LOVER'S FANCY. 

Sweet Heaven ! I do love a maiden, 
Radiant, rare, and beauty-laden : 
When she's near me, heaven is round me, 
Her dear presence doth so bound me ! 
I could wring my heart of gladness. 
Might it free her lot of sadness ! 
Give the world, and all that's in it, 
Just to press her hand a minute ! 
Yet she weeteth not I love her ; 

Never dare I tell the sweet 
Tale, but to the stars above her. 

And the flowers that kiss her feet. 

! to live and linger near her. 
And in tearful moments cheer her ! 

1 could be a bird to lighten 

Her dear heart, — her sweet eyes brighten 



72 



Or in fragrance, like a blossom, 
Give my life up on her bosom ! 
For my love's withouten measure. 
All its pangs are sweeteist pleasure ; 
Yet she weeteth not I love her ; 

Never dare I tell the sweet 
Tale, but to the stars above her, 

And the flowers that kiss her feet. 



SONG. 

All glorious as a Rainbow's birth. 

She came in Sjiring-tide's gulden hours ; 
When Heaven went hand-in-hand with Earth, 

And May was crowu'd witli buds and flowers 
The mounting devil at my lieart 

Clomb faintlier, as my life did win 
The charmed heaven, slie wrought apart, 

To wake its slumV)ering Angel in ! 
With radiant mien she trode serene, 

And past me smiling by I 
! who that lookt could chance but love ? 

Not I^ sweet soul, not I. 

ller l)udding breasts, like fragrant fruit, 

Peer'd out, a-yearning to ]»e prcst : 
Her voice shook all my heart's red root ! 

Yet might not break a babe's soft rest ! 
Her being mingled into mine, 

As breath of flowers doth mix and melt, 
And on her lips the honey-wine 

AVas royal-rich as spikenard spilt ; 
AYith love a-gush, like Avater-brooks, 

Iler heart smiled in her eye ; 
! who that lookt could chance but love ? 

Not I, sweet soul, not I. 



IT WILL END IN THE RIGHT. 73 

The dewy eyelids of the Dawn 

Ne'er oped such heaven as hers can show : 
Love ! such eyes have surely shone 

As jewels in some starry brow ! 
Her brow flasht glory like a shrine, 

Or lily-bell with sunburst bright ; 
Where came and went love-thoughts divine, 

As low winds walk the leaves in light : 
She wore her beauty with the grace 

Of Summer's star-clad sky ; 
! who that lookt could chance but love ? 

Not I, sweet soul, not I. 



IT WILL END IN THE RIGHT. 

Never despair ! , my Brother in sorrow ! 

I know that our mourning is ended not. Yet, 
Shall the vanquisht to-day be the victors to-mor- 
row. 
Our Star shall shine on when the Tyrant's sun 's 
set. 
Hold on ! tho' they spurn thee, for whom thou art 
living 
A life only cheer 'd by the lamp of its love : 
Hold on ! Freedom's hope to the bounden ones giv- 
ing : 
Green spots in the waste wait the worn spirit- 
dove; 
Hold on, — still hold on, — in the world's despite, 
Nurse the laith in thy heart, keep the lamp of God 

bright, 
And, my life for thine ! it shall end in the Right. 

What, tho' the Martyrs and Prophets have perisht? 
The Angel of Life rolls the stone fro;n their 
graves : 



7-i god's world is worthy better mex. 

Immortal 's the love, and the freedom they cherisht, 
Their Faith's Triumph-cry stirs the spirits of 
slaves ! 
They are gone, — but a Glory is left in our life, 
Like the day-god "s last kiss on the darkness of 
Even — 
Gone down on the desolate seas of their strife, 

To climb as star-beacons up Liberty's heaven. 
Hold on, — still hold on, — in the world's despite. 
Nurse the faith in tliy heart, keep the lamp of God 

bright, 
And, my life for thine ! it shall end in the Right. 

Think of the AYrongs that have ground us for ages, 

Tiiink of the Wrongs we have still to endure ! 
Thnik of our blood, red on History's pages; 

Then work, that our reck'ning be speedy and sure. 
Slaves, cry unto God ! but be our God reveal'd 

Li our lives, in our works, in our warfare for man ; 
And bearing — or borne upon — Victory's shield, 

Lot us figlit battlu-harness'd, and fall in the van. 
Hold on, — still hold on, — in the world's despite, 
Nurse the faith in thy heart, keep the lamp of God 

bright. 
And, my life for thine ! it shall end in the Right. 



GOD'S WORLD IS WORTHY BETTER MEN. 

Behold ! an idle tale tlioy tell. 

And who shall blame their telling it? 
The rogues have got their cant to sell, 

Tiie world pays well for selling it ! 
They say tlie world's a desert drear, — 

Still plagued with Egyj^t's blindness ! 
That we were sent to suller here, — 

What ! by a God of kindness? 



GOD S WORLD IS WORTHY BETTER MEN. 

That since the world has gone astray, 

It must be so for ever, 
And we should stand still, and obey 

Its Desolators, Never ! 
We'll labor for the better time, 

With all our might of Press and Pen ; 
Believe me, 'tis a truth sublime, 

God's world is worthy better men. 

With Paradise the world began, 

A world of love and gladness : 
Its beauty may be marr'd by man 

With all his crime and madness. 
Yet 'tis a brave world still. Love brings 

A sunshine for the dreary : 
With all our strife, sweet Rest hath wings 

To fold o'er hearts a- weary. 
The Sun in glory, like a God, 

To-day climbs up heaven's bosom, 
The flowers upon the jewell'd sod 

In sweet love-lessons blossom, 
As radiant of immortal youth 

And beauty, as in Eden ; then 
Believe me, 'tis a noble truth, 

God's world is worthy better men. 

! they are bold, knaves over-bold, 

Who say we are doom'd to anguish : 
That men in God's own image soul'd, 

Like hell-bound slaves, must languish. 
Probe Nature's heart to its red core. 

There's more of good than evil ; 
And man, down-trampled man, is more 

Of Angel than of Devil. 
Prepare to die? Prepare to lice ! 

We know not what is living : 
And let us for the world's good give, 

As God is ever giving. 



76 OLD ENGLAND. 

Give Action, Tiionght, Love, Wealth and Time, 

To "vvin the primal age again ; 
Believe me, 'tis a truth sublime, 

God's world is worthy better men. 



OLD ENGLAND. 

There slie sits in her Island-home, 

Peerless among her Peers ! 
And Humanity oft to her arms doth come, 

To ease its poor heart of tears. 
Old England still throbs with the muffled fire 

Ufa Past she can never forget : 
And again shall she" banner the VVorld up higher ; 

For there's life in the Old Land yet. 

They would mock at her now, who of old lookt 
forth 

In their fear, as they heard her afar ; 
But loud will your wail be, kings of the Earth ! 

When the Old Land goes down to the Avar. 
The Avalanche trembles, half-launcht, and half- 
riven , 

Her voice will in motion set : 
ring out the tidings, ye AVinds of heaven ! 

There's life in the Old Land yet. 

The old mirsing ^lother 's not hoary yet. 

There is sap in her Saxon tree ; — ; 
Lo ! she liftcth a bosom of glory yet. 

Thro' her mists, to the Sun and the Sea. 
Fair as the Queen of Love, fresh from the foam, 

Or a Star in a dark cloud set ; 
Ye may Ijla/.en her shame, — ye may leap at her 
name, — 

But there's life in the Old Land yet. 



A POOR man's wife. 77 

Let th6 storm burst, it will find the Old Land 

Ready -ripe for a rough, red fray ! 
She will fight as she fought when she took her stand, 

For the Right in the olden day. 
Ay, rouse the old royal soul, Europe's best hope 

Is her sword-edge by Victory set ! 
She shall dash Freedom's foesadown Death's bloody 
slope ; 

For there's life in the Old Land yet 



A POOR MAN'S WIFE. 

Her dainty hand nestled in mine, rich and white, 

And timid as trembling dove ; 
And it twinkled about me, a jewel of light, , 

As she garnisht our feast of love : 
'Twas the queenliest hand in all lady-land, 

And she was a poor Man's wife ! 
! but little ye'd think how that wee, white hand 
Could dare in the battle of Life. 

Her heart it was lowly as maiden's might be. 

But hath climb'd to heroic height, 
And burn'd like a shield in defence of me, 

On the sorest field of fight ! 
And startling as fire, it hath often flasht up 

In her eyes, the good heart and rare ! 
As she drank down her half of our bitterest cup. 

And taught me how to bear. 

Her sweet eyes that seem'd with their smile sublime, 

Made to look me and light me to heaven, 
They have triumph'd thro' bitter tears many a time, 

Since their love to my life was given : 
And the maiden-meek voice of the womanly Wife 

Still bringeth the heavens nigher ; 
For it rings like the voice of God over my life. 

Aye bidding me climb up higher. 



78 LINES INSCRIBED TO THE REV. F. D. MAURICE. 

I hardly dared thipk it was human, when 

I first loukt in her yearning face ; 
For itshune as the heavens had open'd then, 

And ehid it M'ith glory and grace ! 
But dearer its light oi" Jiealing grew 

In our dark and desolate day, 
As the Kainbow, when heav"u hath no break of 
blue, 

Smileth the storm away. 
! her shape was tlie lithest Loveliness, — 
' Just an armful of heav'n to enfold 1 
But the form that bends flower-like in love's caress. 

With the A'ictor's strength is soul'd I 
In her worshipful presence transiigur'd I stand. 

And the poor Man's English homo 
She lights with the Beauty of Greece the grand, 

And the glory of rcgaliest Home. 



LINES INSCRIBED TO THE HEY. F. D. 
MAURICE. 

God bless you, Brave One, in our dearth. 
Your life shall leave a trailing glory ; 

And round the poor jNIan's homely hearth 
We proudly tell your suflering's story. 

All Saviour-souls have sacrificed, 

AVith nought but noble faith for guerdon ; 
And ere the world hatli crown'd the Christ, 

The man to death hath borne the burden ! 

The Savage broke the glass tliat brought 
The heavens nearer, saith the legend ! 

Even so the Bigots welcome aught 

That makes our vision starrier-region 'd ! 



LOVE. 79 

They lay their Corner-stones in dark 
Deep waters, who up-build in beauty, 

On Earth's old heart, their Triumph-Arc 
That crowns with glory lives of duty. 

And meekly still the INlartyrs go 

To keep with Pain their solemn bridal ! 

And still they walk the fire who bow 
Not down to worship Custom's idol. 

In fieriest fiirge of martyrdom. 

Their swords of soul must weld and brighten : 
Tear-bathed, from fiercest furnace, come 

Their lives, heroic-tempered — Titan ! 

And heart-strings sweetest music make 
When swept by Sufiering's fiery fingers ! 

And thro' soul-shadows starriest break 
The glories on God's brave light-bringers. 

Take heart ! tho' sown in tears and blood, 
No seed that's quick with love, hath pcrisht, 

Tho' dropt in barren byeways — God 

Some glorious flower of life hath cherish fc. 

Take heart ; the rude dust dark^To-day, 
Soars a new-lighted sphere To-morrow ! 

And wings of splendor burst the clay 

That clasps us in Death's fruitful furrow. 



LOVE. 

Love ! Love ! Love ! 
Its glory smites our gloom, 
And flower-like flusht with life, the heart 
Doth buro;eon into bloom ! 



80 A SONG IN THE CITY. 

Sweet as the sunshine's golden kiss, 
That crowns the world anew : 

Sweet as in Roses' hearts of blLsH, 
Soft, summer-dark, drops dew. 

Love ! Love ! Love ! 

May make the ))rave heart ache ; 
Pulse out its lavish life, and leave 

It, mournfully to ])reak ! 
But O liow exquisite it starts 

The tlioughts that bee-like cling, 
To drain tlic honey from your hearts. 

And leave a bleeding sting ! 

Love ! Love ! Love ! 

Its very pain endears ! 
And every wail and weeping })rings 

Some ))lessing on our tears ! 
Love makes our darkest days, sweet dove ! 

In golden Suns go down. 
And still wx^'ll clothe our hearts with love, 

And crown us with Love's crown. 



A SONG IN THE CITY. 

Coining the heart, brain, and sinew, to gold, 
Till we sink in the dark, on the pauper's dole, 

Feeling for ever the flowerless mould, 
Growing about the uncrowned soul ! 

0, God! O, God ! must this evermore bo 

The lot of the Children of Poverty ? 

The Spring is calling from brae and l)0wer, 

In the twinkling sheen of the sunny hour, 

Earth smiles in her golden green ; 



A SONG IN THE CITY, 81 

Glad as the bird in the tree-top chanting 

Its anthem of Liberty ; 
With its heart in its musical gratitude panting, 

And 0, 'tis a bliss to be ! 
Once more to drink in the life-breathing air, 

Lapt in luxurious flowers — 
To recall again the pleasures that were 

In Infancy's innocent hours — 
To wash the earth-stains and the dust from my soul. 

In nature's reviving tears, once more ; 
To feast at her banquet, and drink from her bowl 

Rich dew, for the heart's hot core. 
Ah me ! ah me ! it is heavenly then. 

And hints of the spirit- world, near alway, 
Are stirring, and stirred, at my heart again, 

Like leaves to the kiss of May : 
It is but a dream, yet 'tis passing sweet. 

And when from it spells my spirit is waking. 
Dark is my heart, and the wild tears start ; 

For I WAS not made merely for moxey-makixg. 

My soul leaneth out,* to the whisperings 

Of the mighty, the marvellous spirits of old ; 
And heavenward soareth to strengthen her wings, 

When Labor relapseth its earthly hold ; 
And breathless with awfuUest beauty — it listens, 

To catch the Night's deep, starry mystery ; 
Or in mine eyes, dissolved, glistens. 

Big, for the moan of Humanity. 
Much that is written within its chamber, 
Much that is shrined in the mind's living amber. 

Much of this thought of mine, — 
There's music below, in the glistering leaves, 
There's music above, and heaven's blue bosom 
heaves 
The silvery clouds between ; 
The boughs of the woodland are nodding in play, 
And wooingly beckon my spirit away — 



82 A SONG IN THE CITY. 

I hear the dreamy hum 
Of bees in the lime-true, and birds on the spray ; 
And they, too, are calling my thinking away ; 

But I cannot — cannot come. 
Visions of verdant and heart-cooling places 

AVill steal on my soul like a golden spring-rain ; 
Bringing the lost light of brave, vanisht faces, 
Till all my life blossoms with beauty again. 
But 0, for a glimpse of the flower-laden Morning, 
That makes the heart leap up, and knock at 
heaven's door ! 

for the green lane, the green field, the green 

wood. 
To take in, by heartfuls, their greenness once 
more ! 

How I yearn to lie down in the lush-flower'd mea- 
dows. 

And nestle in leaves, and the sleep of the shadows. 
Where violets in the cool gloom are awaking, 

There, let my soul burst from its cavern of clay, 

To float down the warm spring, away and away ! 
For I WAS not made merely for money-making. 

At my wearisome task I oftentimes turn, 

From my bride, and my monitress". Duty, 
Forgetting the strife, and the wrestle of life. 

To talk with the spirit of beauty. 
The multitude's hum, and tlie chinking of gold, 

Grow hush as the d^ang of day. 
For on wings, pulsing music, with joy untold, 

jNIy^heart is up and away ! 

1 fain would struggle and give to birtli ; 
For I would not pass away from earth. 

And make no sign ! 
I yearn to utter, what might live on, 
In the world's heart, when I am gone. 
I would not plod on, like these slaves of gold, 

Who shut up their souls in a dusky cave : 
I would see the world better, and nobler-soul'd. 

Ere I dream of heaven in my green turf-grave. 



A WELCOME TO LOUIS KOSSUTH. 83 

I may toil till my life is filled with dreariness, 

Toil till my heart is a wreck in its weariness, 

Toil for ever, for tear-steept bread, 

Till I go down to the silent dead. 

But, by this yeariiing, this hoping, this aching, 

I WAS NOT MADE MERELY FOR MONEY-MAKING. 



A WELCOME TO LOUIS KOSSUTH. 

Ho ! Patriots of old England, wake ! 

And join ye heart and hand , 
To welcome him for Freedom's sake 

Within our fatherland ! 
He needs no proud triumphal arch, 

Nor banners on the wind ; 
In hearts that beat his triumph-march, 

Our Kossuth's fitly shrined ! 
We meet him here, we greet him here — 

With Love's wide arms caress him ! 
And Kings have no such welcome dear. 

As Kossuth hath : God bless him. 

He rose like Freedom's morning star, 

Where all was darkling, dim — 
We saw his glory from afar, 

And fought in soul for him ! 
Brave Victor ! how his radiant brow 

King'd Freedom's host like Saul ! 
And in his crown of sorrow now 
. He's royallest heart of all. 
We meet him here, we greet him here — 

With Love's wide arms caress him ! 
And Kings have no such welcome dear, 

As Kossuth hath : God bless him. 



84 A WELCOME TO LOUIS KOSSUTH. 

Ay, English hearts thro' proud tears gush 

With glory at his name — 
"Whose brave deeds made the roused blood rush, 

Along our veins like flame : 
We cheer'd him thro' his hero-strife — 

And, in his presence met, 
We'll show the world that noble life 

Lives in Old England yet ! 
We meet him here, we greet him here — 

AVith Love's wide arms caress him ! 
And Kings have no such welcome dear, 

As Kossuth hath : God bless him. 

He cometh dim with glorious dust, 

From out his wrestling ring : 
But, blessings — praises — deathless trust — 

Like armies round him cling ! 
And Freedom runs her radiant round, 

Tho' clouds shut out the sky ; 
And soon the World's great heart shall bound, 

To Kossuth's conquering cry. 
We meet him here, we greet him here — 

With Love's wide arms caress him ! 
And Kings have no such welcome dear, 

As Kossuth hath : God bless him. 

His Hungary billows o'er witli graves 

Of Martyr's not in vain : 
See what a ripening harvest waves 

Its fruit of that red rain ! 
Again his flaming sword shall glare 

The Despots' splendor dim : 
And palsy strike the arm that dare 

Not strike a blow for him ! 
We meet him here, we greet him here — ^ 

AVith TiOvc's wide arms caress him ! 
And Kings have no sucli welcome dear, 

As Kossuth hath : God bless him. 



I 



ONWARD AND SUNWARD. 85 

Ring out, exult, and clap your hands, 

Free Men and Women brave — 
Shout, Britain ! shake the startled lands, 

And free the bounden Slave ! 
Come forth, make merry in the sun, 

And give him welcome due ; 
Heroic hearts have crown 'd him one 

Of Earth's Immortal few ! 
We meet him here, we greet him here — 

With Love's wide arms caress him ! 
And Kings have no such welcome dear, 

As Kossuth hath : God bless him. 



ONWARD AND SUNWARD. 

Tell me the song of the beautiful Stars, 

As grandly they glide on their blue way above 
us. 
Looking, despite of our spirit's sin-scars, 

Down on us tenderly, yearning to love us ! 
This is the song in their work-worship sung, 
Down thro' the world-jewelled universe rung : 
" Onward for ever, for evermore onward," 
And ever they open their loving eyes Sunward. 

" Onward," shouts Earth, with her myriad voices 
Of music, aye answering the song of the 
Seven., 
As like a wing'd child of God's love she rejoices. 

Swinging her censer of glory in heaven. 
And lo, it is writ by the finger of God, 
In sunbeams and flowers on the live-green sod : 
Onward for ever, for evermore onward. 
And ever she turneth all trustfully Sunward. 



Ob A MAIDEN S SONG. 

The mightiest souls of all time hover o'er us, 

Who labor'd like Gods among men, and have 
gone 

Like great bursts of sun on the dark way before us : 
They're with us, still with us, our battle fight 
on, 

Looking down victor-brow'd, from the glory- 
crown 'd hill 

They beckon, and beacon us, on, onward still : 

And the true heart's aspirings are onward, still on- 
ward ; 

It turns to the Future, as earth turneth Sunward. 



A MAIDEN'S SONG. 

I LOVE ! and Love hath given me 
Sweet thoughts to God akin : 

And oped a living Paradise 

My heart of liearts within : 

from this Eden of my life 

God keep the Serpent Sin ! 

1 love ! and into angel-land 

AVith starry glimpses peer ! 
I drink in beauty like heaven-wine, 

AV^hen One is smiling near ! 
And there's a Rainbow round my soul 

For every falling tear. 

Dear God in heaven ! keep without stain 
jNIy Iwsam's brooding Dove : 

clothe it meet for angel arms. 
And give it place above ! 

For there is notiiing from the world 
I yearn to take, but Love. 



there's no dearth of kindness. 87 



THERE'S KO DEARTH OF KINDNESS. 

There's no dearth of kindness 

In this workl of ours ; 
Only in our blindness 

We gather thorns for flowers ! 
Outward, we are spurning — 

Trampling one another ! 
While we are inly yearning 

At the name of " Brothe/ ! " 

There's no dearth of kindness 

Or love among mankind, 
But in darkling loneness 

Hooded hearts grow blind ! . 
Full of kindness tingling, 

Soul is shut from soul, 
W hen they might be mingling 

In one kindred whole ! 

There's no dearth of kindness, 

Tho' it be unspoken, 
From the heart it buildeth 

Rainbow-smiles in token — 
That there be none so lowly, 

But have some angel-touch : 
Yet, nursing loves unholy, 

We live for self too much ! 

As the wild-rose bloweth. 

As runs the happy river. 
Kindness freely floweth 

In the heart for ever. 
But if men will hanker 

Ever for golden dust, 
Kingliest hearts will canker, 

Brightest spirits rust. 



88 A LYRIC OF LOVE. 

There's no deartli of kindness 

In this Avurkl of ours ; 
Only in our l^lindness 

"We gath(;r thorns for flowers ! 
cherish God's ])est giving, 

Falling from above ! 
Life were not worth living, 

Were it not for Love. 



A LYRIC OF LOVE. 

The Lark that nestles nearest earth. 

To Heaven's gate nighost sings ; 
And loving thee, my lowly life 

Doth mount on Lark-like wings ! 
Thine eyes are starry promises : 

And affluent above 
All measure in its blessing, is 

The largess of thy love. 

Merry as laughter 'mong the hills. 

Spring dances at my heart ! 
And at my Avooing, Nature's soul 

Into her face will start ! 
The Queen-moon, in her starry bower, 

Looks happier for our love ; 
A dewier splendor fills the flower. 

And mellower coos the Dove. 

My heart may sometimes blind mine eyes 

With utterance of tears, 
But feels no pang for thee, Bolov'd ! 

But all the more endears : 
And if life comes with cross and care 

UnknoAvn in years of yore, 
I know thou'lt half the Ijurthen bear. 

And I am strong once more. 



THE FAMINE-SMITTEN. 89 

Ah ! now I see my life was shorn, 

That, like the forest-brook 
When leaves are shed, my darkling soul 

Up in heaven's face might look I 
And blessings on the storm that gave 

Me haven on thy breast. 
Where life hath climaxt like a wave 

That breaks in perfect rest. 



THE FAMINE-SMITTEN. 

In the tears of the IMorning — 

The smiles of the sun. 
The green Earth's adorning 

Told spring had begun ! 
AYarm woods donn'd their beauty, wrought 

Through long still nights, 
And musical breezes brought 

Flowery delights : 
The humming leaves flasht 

Rich in light, with sweet sound. 
And the glad waters dasht 

Their starry spray round ! 
The woodbines up-climbing, 

Laught out, pink-and-golden. 
And bees made sweet chiming 

In roses half-folden. 
But where was that infant- band, 

Wont in spring weather 
To wander forth, hand-in-hand, 

yiolets to gather 1 
Ah misery ! they slept. 

The dear blossoms of love ! 
Where the green branches wept. 

And the grass crept above ; 



90 THE FAMINE-SMITTEX. 

Melodious gladness 

Throbl/d thro' tlie rich air, 
But the anguisii of madness 

Rent Poverty's lair ; 
For Famine had smitten 

Its pride of life low, 
And agon}^ written 

On heart and on brow. 
Sweet from the boughs the birds 

Sang in their mirth, 
* The lark messaged heavenwards, 

Blessings from earth — 
But I turned where our gentle Lord's 

Loves lay in dearth. 
They heard not, nor heeded, 

The sounds of life o'er them ! 
They felt not, nor needed, 

The hot tears swept for them ! 
But earth-flowers were springing 

O'er human flowers' grave. 
And, God ! what lieart-wringiug 

Their tender looks gave ! 
They died ! died of hunger — 

By bitter want l»lasted ! 
While wealth for the Wronger 

Ran over un tasted — 
While Pomp, in joy's rosy bow'rs, 

Wasted life's measure. 
Chiding the lagging hours, 

Wearied of pleasure ! 
They died ! while men hoarded 

The free gifts of God : 
They died ! 'tis recorded 

In letters of blood. 
Yet the corn on the hills 

AVavos its showery -gold crown ; 
Still Nature's lap tills 

With the good heaven drops down. 



OUR FATHERS ARE PRAYING FOR PAUPER-PAY. 91 

! this world might be lighted 

With Eden's first smile — 
Angel-haunted — un blighted, 

With freedom for Toil : 
But they wring out our blood 

For their banquet of gold ! 
They annul laws of God, 

Soul and body are sold ! 
Hark now ! hall and palace, 

Ring out, dome and rafter ! 
Ay, laugh on, ye callous ! 

In Hell there'll be laughter : 
But tremble, hell-makers ; 

The shorn among men — 
The world's image-breakers 

Grow mighty again ; 
There be stern times a-coming. 

The dark days of reck'ning. 
The storms are up-looming — 

The Nemesis wak'ning ! 
On heaven, blood shall call. 

Earth quake Avith pent thunder, 
And shackle and thrall 

Shall be riven asunder. 
It will come, it shall come, 

Impede it what may : 
Up, People! and welcome 

Your glorious day. 



OUR FATHERS ARE PRAYING FOR 
PAUPER-PAY. 

Smittex stones will talk with fiery tongues. 
And the worm, when trodden, will turn ; 

But, Cowards, ye cringe to the cruellest wrongs, 
And answer with never a spurn. 



92 OUR FATHERS ARE PRAYING FOR PALrER-PAY. ^ 

Then torture, Tyrants, the S])iritles3 drove, 

Old England's Helots ^vill bear : 
There's no hell in their hatred, no God in tlieir 
love, 

Nor shame in their dearth's despair. 
For our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay, 

Our Mothers -with Deatirs kiss are ^hite; 
Our Suns are the rich man's Serfs by day, 

And our Daughters his Slaves by night. 

The Tearless are drunk with our tears : have they 
driven 

The God of the poor man mad ? 
For we weary of waiting the help of Heaven, 

And the battle goes still with the bad. 
but death for death, and life for life. 

It were better to take and give. 
With hand to throat, and knife to knife. 

Than die out as thousands live ! 
For our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay, 

Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white ; 
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day. 

And our Daughters his Slaves by night. 

Fearless and few were the Heroes of old. 

Who play'd the peerless part : 
AVe are tifty-fold, but the gangrene Gold 

Hath eaten out Hampden's heart. 
With their faces to danger, like fi-ee-men they 
fought. 

With their daring, all heart and hand : 
And the thunder-deed foUow'd the lightning- 
thought. 

When they stood for their own good land. 
Our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay, 

Our jNIoihers with Death's kiss are white; 
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day. 

And our Daughters his Slaves by night. 



A CRY OF THE PEOPLES. 93 

"When the heart of one half the world doth beat 

Akin to the brave and the true, 
And the tramp of Democracy's earthquake feet 

Goes thrilling the wide world through, — 
We should not be living in darkness and dust, 

And dying like slaves in the night ; 
But, big with the might of the inward " must,^'' 

We should battle for Freedom and Right ! 
For our Fathers are praying for Pauper-pay, 

Our Mothers with Death's kiss are white ; 
Our Sons are the rich man's Serfs by day, 

And our Daughters his Slaves by night. 



A CRY OF THE PEOPLES. 

t 

r Like a strong man in torture, the weary world 

I turneth . 

To clutch Freedom's robe round her slavery's 
starkncss : 
AYith shame and with shudder, poor Mother! she 
yearneth 
O'er wrongs that are done in her dearth and her 
darkness. 
gather thy strength up, and crush the Abhorred, 
Who murder thy poor heart, and drain thy life- 
springs, — 
And are crowned to hide the Cain-brand on their 
forehead : 
let them be last of the Queens and the Kings ! 

By the lovers and friends we have tenderly cherisht. 
Who made the Cause soar up like flame at their 
breath. 
Who struggled like Gods met in fight, and have 
perisht 
In poverty's battle with grim daily death : 



94 A CRY OF THE PEOPLES. 

, by all dear ones that bitterly plead for us — 
Life-flowers tied up in tlie heart's breaking 
strings — 
Sisters that weep for us — mothers that bleed for 
us — 
Let these be last of the Queens and the Kings ! 

Sun and Rain kindle greenly the graves of our 
Martyrs, 
Ye might not toll where the brave blood ran like 
rain ! 
But there it burns ever ! and heaven's weeping 
waters 
And branding suns never shall whiten tlie stain ! 
Remember the hurtling the Tyrants have wrought 

us, 
. And smite till each helm bravely flashes and 

rings ! 
Life for life, blood for blood, is the lesson they've 
taught us, 
And be these the last of the Queens and the Kings ! 

IIo ! weary Nightwatch, is there light on the sum- 
mit ? 
Yearner up through the Xight, say, is there 
hope ? 
For deeper in darkness than fathom of plummet. 
Our Bark tliro' the tempest doth stagger and 
grope ! 
*' To Gud's unforgiven, to caitiff" and craven — 

To Crown and to Sceptre, a cleaving curse clings : 
Ye must fling them from deck, Avould ye steer into 
haven, 
For Death tracks the last of the Queens and the 
Kinn-s ! " 



HOPE ON, HOPE EVER. 95 



HOPE ON, HOPE EVER. 

Hope on, hope ever ! though to-day be dark, 

The sweet sunburst may smile on thee to-morrow : 
Tho' thou art lonely, there's an eye will mark 

Thy loneliness, and guerdon all thy sorrow ! 
Tho' thou must toil 'mong cold and sordid men, 

With none to echo back thy thought, or love 
thee. 
Cheer up, poor heart, thou dost not beat in vain, 

For God is over all, and heaven above thee — 
Hope on, hope ever. 

The iron may enter in and pierce thy soul, 

But cannot kill the love within thee burning : 
The tears of misery, thy bitter dole. 

Can never quench thy true heart's seraph yearn- 
ing 
For better things : nor crush thy ardor's trust, 
That Error from the mind shall be uprooted, 
That Truths shall dawn as fiow^ers spring from the 
dust. 
And Love be cherish t where Hate was embruted ! 
Hope on, hope ever. 

I know 'tis hard to bear the sneer and taunt, — 

With the heart's honest pride at midnight 
wrestle, 
To feel the killing canker-worm of Want, 

While rich rogues in their stolen luxury nestle ; 
For I have felt it. Yet from Earth's cold Real 

My soul looks out on coming- things, and cheerful 
The warm Sunrise floods all the land Ideal, 

And still it whispers to the worn and tearful, 
Hope on, hope ever. 



.96 THE people's advent. 

Hope on, hope ever ! after darkest night, 

(Jomcs, full of loving life, the laughing Morning ; 
Hope on, hope ever ! Spring-tide, fiusht with light, 

Aye crowns old Winter with her rich adorning. 
Hope on, hope ever, yet the time shall come, 

A71ien man to man shall be a friend and brother ; 
And this old world shall be a happy home, 

xVnd all earth's family love one another ! 
Hope on, hope ever. 



THE PEOPLE'S ADVENT. 

'Tis coming np the steep of Time, 

And this old world is grooving brighter I 
We may not see its dawn sublime. 

Yet high hopes make the heart throb lighter. 
We may be sleeping in the ground. 

When it awakes the world in wonder ; 
But we have felt it gathering round, 

And heard its voice of living thunder. 

'Tis coming ! yes, 'tis coming. 

'Tis coming now, the glorious time. 

Foretold by Seers, and sung in story ; 
For which, when thinking was a crime. 

Souls leapt to heaven from scaffolds gory ! 
They pass'd, nor see the work they wrought, 

Now the crownM hopes of centuries, blossom ! 
But the live lightning of their thought 

And daring deeds, doth pulse Earth's bosom. 
'Tis coming I yes, 'tis coming ! 

Creeds, Empires, Systems, rot with age. 

But the great People 's ever youthful ! 
And it shall write the Future's page, 

To our humanity more truthful ! 



THE people's advent. 97 

The gnarliest heart hath tender chords, 
T(j waken at the name of " Brother ; " 

And time comes when brain-scorpion words 
We shall not speak to sting each other. 

'Tis coming ! yes, 'tis coming ! 



Out of the light, ye Priests, nor fling 

Your dark, cold shadows on us longer ! 
Aside ! thou world-wide curse, call'd'King ! 

The People's step is quicker, stronger. 
There's a Divinity within 

That makes men great, whene'er they will it : 
God works with all who dare to wdn, 

And the time cometh to reveal it. 

'Tis coming ! yes, 'tis coming ! 

Freedom ! the tyrants kill thy braves ; 

Yet in our memories live the sleepers. 
And, tho' doom'd millions feed the graves. 

Dug by Death's fierce, red-handed reapers ; 
The world shall not for ever bow 

To things w^hich mock God's own endeavor ; 
'Tis nearer than they w^ot of now, 

AYhen flowers shall wreathe the sword for ever, 
'Tis coming ! yes, 'tis coming ! 

Fraternity ! Love's other name ! 

Dear, heaven-connecting link of Being ! 
Then shall Ave grasp thy golden dream, 

As souls, full-statured, grow fiir-seeing. 
Thou shalt unfold our better part, 

And in our Life-cup yield more honey ; 
Light up with joy the poor man's heart, 

And Love's own world, with smiles more sunny. 
'Tis coming ! yes, 'tis coming ! 

Ay, it must come ! The tyrant's throne 
Is crumbling, Avith our hot tears rusted ; 



98 PEACE. 

The Sword earth's mighty have leant on 
Is cauker'd, with our heart's blood crusted. 

Room ! for the men of Mind make way ! 
Ye robber Rulers, pause no longer ; 

Ye cannot stay the opcnintj day : 

The world rolls on, the light grows stronger, 
The People's Advent's coming ! 



KISSES. 



1 



One kiss more, Sweet ! 
Soft as voluptuous wind of tlie west. 
Or silkenest surcre of thy purple-vein'd breast 
Ripe lips all ruddily melting apart. 
Drink up the honey and wine of my heart ! 

One kiss more, Sweet ! 
AVarm as a morning sunbeam's dewy gold 
Slips in a red Rose's fraorantest fold. 
Sets its oreen Idood all a-l»lush, burning up 
At the fresh feel of life, in its crimson cup I 

One kiss more, Sweet ! 
Full as the flush of the sea-waves grand 
Flooding the sheeny tire out of the sand ; 
On all tlie sliores of my being let Bliss 
Break with its neap-tide sea in a kiss ! 



PEACE. 

Yes, Peace is beautiful : and I do yearn 
For her to clasp the World's poor tortured heart. 
As sweet spring warmth doth brood o'er com in* 
flowers. 



PEACE. 99 

But peace with these Leviathans of blood — 
Who pirate crimson seas, devouring men ? 
Give them the hand of brotherhood — whose fangs 
Are in our hearts with the grim blood-hound's grip ? 
Would'st see Peace, idiot-like, with smirk and 

smile, 
A-planting flowers to coronal Truth's grave? 
Peace, merry-making round the funeral pyre. 
Where Freedom, fiery-curtained, weds with death? 
Peace, mirroring her form by pools of blood, — 
Crowning the Croat in Vienna's fosse. 
With all sweet influences of thankful eyes, 
For murder of the glorious Burschenschaft? 
Peace with Oppression, which doth tear dear friends 
And brothers from our side to-day, and comes 
To eat OUR hearts and drink our Ijlood to-morrow ? 
Out on't ! it is the Tyrant's cunning cant, 
Ths robe of sheen flun^ o'er its deadly daggers, 
Which start to life, whene'er it hugs to death. 
I answer, War ! — war with the cause of w^ar, — 
War w^ith our misery, want, and wretchedness, — 
War with curst Gold, which is an endless war 
On Love, and God, and our Humanity ! 
Brothers, I bid ye forth to glorious war ! 
Patch fig-leaves o'er the naked truth no more. 
The stream of Time runs red with our best blood ! 
Time's seed-field we have sown with fratricide. 
And dragon's teeth have sprung, ay. in our hearts. 
! we have fought and bled on land and sea, 
Heapt glory's car with myriads of the brave. 
Spilt blood by oceans — treasures by the million, 
At every Tyrant's beck. Had we but shed 
Such warm and eloquent blood for Freedom's faith, 
War's star in heaven had lost its name ere now. 
"Brothers!" I cried, — well, Brothers, brother 

slaves ! 
! but to give ye slaves their valiant heart, 
Whose dumb, dead dust is worth your living 

souls — 



100 PEACE. 

Dear God ! 'twere sweet to kiss the scafFold-block ! 
I'd proudly leap death's darkness, to lot shine 
The Future's promise thro' your sorrow's tears! 
Sorrow? ah, no I ye feel not sense so holy : 
The worm of misery riots in your hearts — 
Ye hear your younglings in the drear midnight 
Make moan for bread, when ye have none to 

give ! — 
Ye drain your life, warm, for the vulture's drink I 
The groaning land is choked with living death. 
! ye are mated to the things of scorn. 
And I have heard your miserable madness 
Belcht forth in drunken pagans to your t^'rants, « 
Pledging your murderers to the hell they've made. ■ 
Ah, Christ ! was it for this, thou sudden sun, ^ 
Dicl'st light these centuries Avith thy dying smile'? — 
AVas it for this, so many and so many ' 
Have hackt their spirit-swords against our fetters 
And killing cords, that bleed our hearts to death — 
"Wept griefs might turn the soul gray in an hour — 
Broke their great hearts for love, and, in despair, 
Dasht their immortal crowns to earth, and died"? 
Was it for this the countless Host of ^lartyrs, 
Becrown'd and robed in fiery martyrdom, 
Beat out a golden-aged Future from 
The angel-metal of their noble lives — 
Clonib the red scailbld — strain 'd their weary eyes. 
Across the mists of ages, for one glimpse 
Of midnight burning into that bright Dawn 
Now bursting golden, up the skies of time".^ 
When will ye put your human glory on".' 
How long will ye lie darkling desolate, 
With barren lu-ain, blind life, and fallow heart? 
The hollow yearning grave will kindly close, 
And flowers spring where the mould lay freshly 

dark ! 
The leaves will burst from out the nakcd'st boughs. 
Fire-ripen 'd into glorious greenery, 
Waste Moor and Fen will kindle into spring : 



PEACE. 101 

IIow long will ye lie darkling, desolate? 

Lord God Almighty ! what a spring of freedom 

Awaits to burst the winter of our world ! 

! if aught moving thrills a brother's love, 

Which pleads for utterance in blinding tears, 

Then let these words burn living in your souls. 

Snatch Fear's cold hand from off your palsied 

hearts. 
And send the intrepid shudder through your veins. 
Helots of Albion ! Penury's nurslings ! rise. 
And swear, in God's name, and in Heaven's or 

Hell's, 
Ye will bear witness at the birth of Freedom ! 
Arise, and front the blessed light of Heaven, 
With tyrant-quailing manhood in your looks ! 
Arise, go forth to glorious war for right. 
And justice, and mankind's high destiny ! 
Arise, 'tis Freedom's bleeding fight, strike home 
Wherever tyrants lift the gorgon-head ! 
There is a chasm in the coming years, 
A-gape for strife's Niagara of blood — 
Or to be bridged by brave hearts linkt in love. 
The world is stirring with its mighty purpose : 
No more be laggards in the march of men. 
The Vulture Despotism spreads its wide wings 
Right royally to give ye broader mark I 
And the hag Evil sickens unto death, 
With her sore travail o'er the birth of Good. 
And yet shall War's red-letter'd creed die out ; 
Where blood is running, shall the wild-flowers 

blow ; 
Where men are groaning, shall their children sing : 
And peace and love re-Genesis the world. 



102 EDEN. 



EDEN. 

There is not a rift in the blue sky now. 

Where a million tenn:)e8ts tore it ; 
There is not a furrow on Ocean's brow, 

Tho' a million years have past o'er it. 
And for all the storms and the strifes that hav< 
roll'd . 

Down the ages, grim and gory ; 
Earth weareth her pleasant face, as of old. 

And laughs in her morning glory. 
And Man — tho' he beareth the brand of Sin, 

And the flesh and the devil have bound him — 
Hath a spirit within, to old Eden akin, 

Only nurture wp Eden around him. 

the cloud may have fall'n on the human face. 

And its lordliest beauty blighted ; 
For love hath gone out with a dark'ning trace, 

Where the inward glory lighted. 
Yet the old world of love liveth still in the heart. 

As we've manj^ a sweet revealing ; 
And its rich fossil-jewels in tears will up-start 

With the warm flood of holier feeling. 
Ay, Man — tho' he beareth the brand of Sin, 

And the flesh and the devil have bound him — 
Hath a spirit within, to old Eden akin, 

Only nurture up Eden around him. 

the terrors, the tortures, the miseries dark — 

That liave curst us, and crusht, and cankered ! 
Yet, aye, from tlie Deluge, Humanity's Ark 

Hath on some serene Ararat anchored. 
the golden chains that link heaven to earth, 

The rusts of all time cannot sever ! 
Evil shall die in its own dark dearth, 

And the Good liveth on for ever. 



THE MEN OF FORTY-EIGHT. 103 

And Man — tlio' he beareth the brand of Sin, 
And the flesh and the devil have bound him — 

Hath a spirit within, to old Eden akin, 
Only nurture up Eden around him. 



THE MEN OF FORTY-EIGHT. 

They rose in Freedom's rare sunrise, 

Like Giants roused from wine ; 
And in their hearts and in their eyes. 

The God leapt up divine ! 
Their souls flasht out like naked swords, 

Unsheathed for fiery fate ! 
Strength went like battle Avith their words ■ 

The Men of Forty-eight ; 

Hurrah ! 

For the JNIen of Forty-eight. 

Dark days have fall'n, yet in the strife 

They bate no hope sublime, 
And bravely works the exultant life. 

Their hearts pulse thro' the time : 
As grass is greenest trodden down, 

So suffering makes men great, 
And this dark tide shall richly crown 

The work of Forty-eight ; 

Hurrah ! 

For the Men of Forty-eight. 

Some in a bloody burial sleep. 

Like Greeks to glory gone. 
But in their steps avengers leap 

With then- proof-armor on : 
And hearts beat high with dauntless trust 

To triumph soon or late, 
Tho' they be mould'ring down in dust — 



104 OUR LAND. 

Brave Men of Forty-eight ' 

Hurrah ! 
For the Men of Forty-eight. 

when the world wakes ui> to worst 

The Tyrants once again, 
And Freedom's summons-shout shall burst, 

Rare music ! on the brain, — 
With heart to heart, in many a land, 

Ye'll lind them all elate — 
Brave remnant of that Spartan-band, 

The Men of Forty-eight ; 

Hurrah ! 

For the Men of Forty -eight. 



OUR LAXD. 

'Tis the Land that our stalwart fore-sires trode, 

Where the brave and heroic-soul'd 
Implanted our freedom with their best blood, 

In the martyr-days of old. 
The huts of tlie lowly gave Liberty birth, 

Tiieir hearts were her cradle glorious, 
And wherever her foot-prints lettered the eartli. 

Great spirits up-sprang victorious. 
In our rare old Land, our d»>ar old Land, 

With its memories bright and l)rave, 
And sing hey for the hour its sons shall band 

To free it of Tyrant and Slave. 

xUfred was of us, and Sliakespeare's tliought 

Bckings us, all erowns above ! 
And Freedom's dear faith a fierce splendor caught 

From our g-rand old Milton's love ! 



OUR LAND. 105 

And we should be marching on gallantly, 

And striding from glory to glory, 
For the Right with our might striking valiantly, 

On the track of the famous in story — 
For our rare old Land, our dear old Land, 

^Vith its memories bright and brave, 
And sing hey for the hour its sons shall band 

To free it of Tyrant and Slave. 

On Naseby-field of the fight sublime, 

Our old red rose doth blow ! 
Would to God that the soul of that earlier time 

Might marshal us conquering now ! 
On into the Future's fair clime the world sweeps, 

And the time trumpets true men to freedom : 
At the heart of our helots the mounting God leaps, 

But for the Moses to lead 'em ! 
For our rare old Land, our dear old Land, 

With its memories bright and brave ! 
And sing hey for the hour its sons shall band 

To free it of Tyrant and Slave. 

AYhat do we lack, that the rufl5an Wrong 

Should starve us, 'mid heaps of gold? 
We have brains as broad, we have arms as strong, 

AYe have hearts as big and as bold ! 
Will a thousand years more of meek sufiering school 

Our lives to a sterner bravery? 
No ! down and doAvn with their robber rule, 

And up from the land of slavery ! 
For our rare old Land, our dear old Land, 

With its memories bright and brave ! 
And sing hey for the hour its sons shall band 

To free it of Tyrant and Slave. 



106 SWEET SPIRIT OF MY LOVE. 



SWEET SPIRIT OF MY LOVE. 

Sweet Spirit of my love ! 
Thro' all the world we walk apart : 

Thou may'st not in my bosjm lie : 
I may not press thee to my lieart, 

Nor see love-tliinkings liglit thine eye : 
Yet art thou with me. AH my lite 

Orbs out in thy warm beauty's sphere ; 
My bravest dreams of thee are rife. 

And color'd with thy presence dear. 

Sweet Spirit of my love I 
T know how beautiful thou art. 

But never tell the starry thought : 
I only whisper to my heart, 

'"' She lights with heaven thy earthliest spot 
And birds that night and day rejoice, 

And fragrant winds, give back to me 
A music ringing of tliy voice, 

And serge my heart's love-tide to thee. 

Sweet Spirit of my love ! 
The Spring and Summer bloom-bedight, 

That garland E.irth with rainbuw-showers,- 
Morn's kissing breath, and eyes of light. 

That wake iu smiles the winking fljwers, 
Tiie air with honey "d fragrance fed, 

The fl.ishing waters, — soughing tree, — 
Noon's golden glory, — sundown red, 

Aye warble into songs of thee. 

Sweet Spirit of my love ! 
AVhcn Night's soft silence clothes the earth, 

And wakes the jussionate bird of love ; 
And Stars laugh out in golden mirth. 

And yearning souls divinelier move ; 



THE BRIDAL. 107 

When God's breath hallows every spot, 

And, lapp'd in feeling's luxury, 
The heart's break-full of tender thought: 

Then art thou with me, still with me. 

Sweet Spirit of my love ! 
I listen for thy footfall, — feel 

Thy look is burning on me, such 
As reads my heart : I sometimes reel 

And throb, expectant for thy touch ! 
For by the voice of woods and brooks. 

And flowers with virgin-fragrance wet, 
And earnest stars with yearning looks, 

I know that we shall mingle yet. 

Sweet Spirit of my love ! 
Strange places on me siaile, as thou 

Hadst pass'd, and left th}^ beauty's tints : 
The wild-flowers even the secret knoAv, 

And light and shade flash mystic hints : 
Mesaems, like olden Gods, thou 'It come 

In cloud : but mine anointed eyes 
Shall see the glory burn thro' gloom. 

And clasp thee, Sweet I with Urge surprise. 



THE BRIDAL. 

She comes ! the blushing Bridal Dawn, 
With her Auroral splendors on ! 
And green Earth never lovelier shone : 



She danceth on her golden way, 
In dainty dalliance Avith the May, 
Jubilant o'er the happy day ! 



108 



THE BRIDAL. 



Earth weareth heaven for briJal-rinp;, 
And the best crarhind of glory, Spring 
From out old \V^inter'8 world can bring. 

The green blood redden in the rose : 
And underneath white-budding boughs 
The violets purple in rich rows. 

High up in air the Chestnuts blow, 
The live-green Apple-tree's flush bough 
Floateth, a cloud of rosy snow ! 

Cloud-shadow-ships swim faerily 

Over the greenery's sunny sea, 

AVhosc warm tides ripple down the lea. 

The Birds, a-brooding, strive to sing, 
Feeling the life warm "neatli the wing : 
Their love, too, burgeons with the Spring ! 

The winds tliat make the flowers blow, 
Heavy with l)alm. breathe soft and low, 
A budding warmth, an amorous glow ! 

They kiss like some endearing mouth, 

I\Iore sweet than the Sabean South, 

And balm the splendor's drooping drouth : 

Such a delicious feel doth flood 
The eyes, as laves the burning bud 
AVhen June-rains feed ambrosial blood. 

0, merrily Life doth revel and reign ! 
Light in heart, and blithe in Imiin ; 
Running like wine in every vein. 

Alive with eyes, the Village sees 

The Bridal dawning from the trees. 

And Housewives swarm i' the sun like Bees. 



THE BRIDAL. 109 

Silence sits i' the Belfry-Choir ! 
Up in the twinkling air the spire 
Throbs, golden in the bickering jBre. 

The winking windows burn and blash 
With colors rare as flow and flush 
Thro' summer sunsets bloomM and hush. 

But, enter : lordlier splendors brim, 
Such mists of gold and purple swim. 
And the light falls so rich and dim. 

Even so doth Love Life's doors unbar. 
Where all the hidden glories are, 
That from the windows shone afar. 

Love 's lovely to the passors-by. 
But they who love are rogion'd high 
On th' iiills of Bliss, witii heaven nigh. 

Sumptuous as Iris, when she swims 
With rainbow-robe on dainty limbs. 
The Bride's rare loveliness o'erbrims ! 

The gazers drink rich overflows. 
Her cheek a livelier damask glows. 
And on his arm she leans more close. 

A drunken joy reels in his blood , 
He wanders an enchanted wood, 
He ranges realms of perfect good. 

Dear God ! that he alone hath grace 
To light such splendor in her face. 
And win the blessing of embrace ! 

She wears her maiden modesty 
With tearful grace touch t tenderly, 
Yet with a ripe Expectancy ! 



110 THE BRIDAL. 

Her virgin veil reveals a form, 

Flowerinor from the bud so warm, 

It needs must break the Cestus-charm. 

Last night, witli W(>dda1)le, wliite arms, 
Andthoucrhts tliat throiig'd with quaint alarms, 
She trembled o'er her mirror'd charms, 

Like Eve first-glassing her now life ; 
And the Maid startled at the Wife, 
Heart-pained with a sweet, warm strife. 

The unknjwn sea moans on her shore 
Of life : she hears the breakers roar ; 
But, trusting Him, she'll fear no more ; 

For, o'er the deep seas there is calm, 
Full as the hush of all heaven's psalm : 
Their goldan goal, — the Victor's palm ! 



And at her heart Love sits and sings, 
And broodcth warmth, bogotting wings 
Shall lift her life to higher things. 

The Blessing given, the ring is on ; 
And at God's Altar radiant run 
The currents of two lives in one ! 

Husht with hap))iness, every sense 
Is crowded at the heart intense ; 
And silence hath such eloquence ! 

Down to his feet her meek eves stoop, 
As there her love should pour its cup ; 
But, like a King, he lifts them up. 

Her flasliing face to heaven up-turns, 
As for God"s gracious kiss it yearns : 
Through all her life llojic's sunrise burns 



THE BRIDAL. Ill 

And now she trembles to his breast, 
To make it aye her happy nest, 
And proudly crown his loving quest : 

His arms her hyacinth head caress, 
And fold her fragrant slenderness, 
With all its touching tenderness. 

Now, on heaven's coast of crystal, crown'd 
Hesper lights life's outward-bound : 
And Evening folds her purple round. 

A palace rich with glorious shows 
She maketh his life's narrow house 
To-night : but there he keeps no rouse ! 

Alone they hold their marriage feast : 
Fresh from the Chrism of the Priest, 
He would not have the happiest jest 

To storm her brows with a crimson fine ; 
And, sooth, they need no wings of wine 
To float them into Love's divine. 

So Strength and Beauty, hand-in-hand. 
Go forth into the honey'd land. 
Lit by the love-moon golden-grand, 

Where God hath built their Bridal-bower ; 
And on the top of life they tower. 
And taste of Eden's perfect hour. 

No lewd eyes o'er my shoulder look ! 
They do but ope the blessed book 
Of Marriage in their hallowed nook. 

0, flowery be the paths they press. 
And ruddiest human fruitage bless 
Them, with a lavish loveliness ! 



112 A GLLMTSE OF AULD LANG-SYNE. 

Melodious move their wedded life 

Thro' shocks of time, and storms of strife, — 

Husband true, and j)erfect Wife ! 



A GLIMPSE OF AULD LANG-SYNE. 

Earth, garnisht Bride-like, bares lier bosom to the 

nestling Night, 
Who hath come down in glory from the golden 

halls of light : 

Ten thousand tender, starry eyes smile o'er the 

world at rest, 
The weary world — husht like an infant on its 

mother's breast ! 

The great old hills thrust up their foreheads in rich- 
sleeping light : 

How proudly-grand, and still they stand, worship- 
ping God to-night ! 

The flowers have hung their cups with gems of their 

own sweetnass wrought, 
And muse upon tiieir stems, in smiling ecstasy ot 

thought : 

They have banquetted on beauty, at the fragrant 

Eve's red lips. 
And fold in charmed rest, with crowns upon their 

velvet tips. 

No green tide sweeps the sea of leaves, no wind-sigh 
stirs the sod. 

While Holiness broods dove-like on the soul, be- 
getting God. 



A GLIMPSE OF AULD LAXG-SYNE. 113 

Sweet hour ! thou wak 'st the feeling that we never 

know by day, 
For Angel eyes look down, and read the spirit 

'neath the clay : 

Even while I list, such music stealeth in upon my 

soul, 
As though adown heaven's stair of stars, the 

seraph-harpings stole — 

Or I could grasp the immortal part of life, and 

soar, and soar, 
Such strong wings take me, and my heart hath 

found such hidden lore ! 

It flings aside the weight of years, and lovingly 

goes back. 
To that sweet time, the dear old time, that glistens 

on its track ! 

Life's withered leaves grow green again, and fresh 
with Childhood's spring. 

As I am welcomed back once more, within its rain- 
bow ring : — 

The Past, with all its gather'd charms, betokens 

me back in joy. 
And loving hearts, and open arms, re-clasp me as 

a boy. 

The voices of the Loved and Lost are stirring at 

my heart, 
And Memory's miser'd treasures leap to life, with 

sudden start, — 

As through her darkened windows, warm and glad 
sunlight creeps in, 

And Lang-syne, glimpst in glorious tears, my toil- 
worn heart doth win. 



114 A GLIMPSE OF AULD LANG-SYNE. 

Thoii art looking, smiling on me, as thou hast 

lookt and smiled, Mother, 
And I am sitting by thy side, at heart a very child, 

Mother ! 

I'm with thee now in soul, sweet Mother, much as 

in those hours. 
When all my wealth was in thy love, and in the 

birds and flowers. 

When the long summer days were short, for my 

glad soul to live 
The golden fulness of the blif?s, each happy hour 

could give. 

When Heaven sang to my innocence, and every 

leafy grove 
And forest ach'd with music, as a young heart 

aches with love. 

When life oped like a flower, where clung my lips, 

to quafl'its honey. 
And joys throng'd like a shower of gold king-cups 

in meadows sunny. 

I'll tell thee. Mother I since we met, stern changes 

have come o'er me : 
Then life smiled like a paradise, the world was all 

before me. 

! I was full of trustful faith, and, in my glee and 

gladness, 
Deemed not that others had begun as bright, whose 
end was madness. 

1 knew not smiles could light up eyes, like Sunset's 

laughing glow 
On some cold stream, which burns above, while all 
runs dark below ; 



A GLIMPSE OF AULD LANG-SYx\E. 115 

That on Love's summer sea, great souls go down, 

while some, grown cold. 
Seal up affection's living spring, and sell their love 

for gold ; 

How they on whom we'd staked the heart forget 

the early vow. 
And they who swore to love through life would 

pass all coldly now ; 

How, in the soul's dark hour, Love's temple-veil is 

rent in twain, 
And the heart quivers thorn-crown'd on the cross 

of fiery pain. 

And shatter'd idols, broken dreams, come crowding 

on my brain, 
As speaks the spirit-voice of days that never come 

again. 

It tells of golden moments lost — heart seared 

blind Passion's thrall ; 
Life's spring-tide blossoms run to waste, Love's 

honey turn'd to gall. 

It tells how many and often high resolve and pur- 
pose strong. 

Shaped on the anvil of my heart, have died upon 
my tongue. 

I left thee, Mother, in sweet May, the merry month 
of flowers, 

To toil away in dusky gloom the golden summer- 
hours. 

I left my world of love behind, with soul for life 

a-thirsting ; 
My burning eyelid dropt no tear, although my 

heart was burstino-. 



IIG SONG OF THE RED REPUBLICAN. 

For I had knit mj soul to climb, -with poverty its 

burden ; 
Give me but time, give me time, and 1 Avould 

win the guerdon. 

Ah, Mother ! many a heart that all my aspiration 

cherisht 
Hath fallen in the trampling strife, and in the life- 

m.irch perish t. 

We see the bleeding victims lie upon the world's 

grim Altar, 
And one by one young feelings die, and dark doubts 

make us falter. 

Mother, the world liath wrcakt its part on me. with 

scathing power. 
Yet the best life that heaves my heart runs for thee 

at this hour. 

And by these holy yearnings, by these eyes with 

sweet tears wet, 
I know there wells a spring of love through all my 

being yet. 



SONG OF THE RED REPUBLICAN. 

Fling out the red Banner I its fiery front under, 

Come, gather ye, gather ye. Champions of Right! 
And roll round the world, with the voice of God's 
thunder. 
The AVrongs we've to reckon, oppressions to smite. 
They deem that we strike no more like the old 
Hero-band , 
Victory's own battlc-liearted and brave: 
Blood of Ciirist! brothers mine, it were sweet but 
to see ye stand, 
Triumph or Tomb welcome, Glory or Grave ! 



SONG OF THE RED REPUBLICAN. 117 

Fling out the red Banner in mountain and valley ! 
Let Earth feel the tread of the free once again ; 
Now soldiers of Freedom, for love of God, rally, 
Old Earth yearns to know that her children are 
Men. 
We are nerved by a thousand wrongs, burning and 
bleeding ; 
Bold Thoughts leap to birth, but the bold Deeds 
must come ; 
And wherever Humanity's yearning and pleading, 
One battle for Liberty strike we heart-home. 

Fling out the red Banner ! achievements immortal 

Have yet to be won by the hands labor-brown ; 
And few, few may enter the proud promise-portal, 

Yet "wear it in thought like a glorious Crown ! 
And joy of the onset ! sound trumpet, array 
us; 
True hearts would leap up were all hell in our 
path . 
Up, up from the Slave-land ; who stirreth to stay 
us, 
Shall fall, as of old, in the Red Sea of wrath. 

Fling out the red Banner, Sons of the morn- 
ing ! 
Young spirits abiding to burst into wings, — 
We stand shadow-crown "d, but sublime is the 
warning. 
All heaven's grimly husht, and the Bird of Storm 
sings ! 
" All's well," saith the Sentry on Tyranny's 
tower, 
While Hope by his watch-fire is gray and tear- 
blind ; 
Ay, all's well ! Freedom's Altar burns, hour by 
hour. 
Live brands for the fire-damp with which ye are 
mined. 



118 THE PATRIOT TO HIS BRIDE. 

Fling out the red Banner ! the patriots perish, 
But where their bones whiten the seed strikcth 
root : 
Their blood hath run red the great harvest to 
cherish : 
Then gather ye, Reapers, and garner the fruit. 
Victory ! victory ! Tyrants are quaking ! 

The Titan of Toil from the bloody thrall starts ; 
The slaves are awaking, the dawn-light is breaking, 
The foot-fall of Freedom beats quick at our 
hearts ! 



THE PATRIOT TO HIS BRIDE. 

Will you leave the fond bosom of Home, where 

Bliss hath been from your earliest waking ? 
Can you give its endearments to come, where 

Life hath many a hot heart-aching? 
Have you counted the cost to stand by me, 

In the battle I fight for Man? 
And shall your angel-love defy me. 

Who stand in the world's dark ban ? 
0, a daring high soul ^^ou will need, dear love, 

To brave the life-battle with me : 
For your true heart may oftentimes bleed, dear 
love, 

And your sweet eyes dim tearfully. 

Sweet ! know you of gallant hearts perishing, — 

The fine spirits that dumbly bow I 
For a little of Fortune's cherishing, 

They are breaking in agony now ! 
And without the sunsliine that life needcth, 

Alas ! Sweet I for me and for you : 
But little the careless world heedcth 

For love like ours, tender and true ! 



ANATHEMA MARANATHA. 119 

0, a daring high soul you will need, dear love, 

To brave the life-battle with me : 
For your true heart may oftentimes bleed, dear 
love. 

And your sweet eyes dim tearfully. 

Well, you've sworn, I have sworn, God hath bound 
us. 

In a covenant the world shall not part : 
I have flung my love's purple around us, 

And you live in each pulse of my heart ! 
It may be our name in Earth's story 

Shall endure when we are no more : 
For love lives as the Stars burn in glory. 

And the Flowers bud on Earth's green floor. 
But a daring high soul you will need, dear love, 

To brave the life-battle with me : 
For your true heart may oftentimes bleed, dear 
love, 

And your sweet eyes dim tearfully. 



ANATHEMA MARANATHA. 

Deeper and deeper the Tyrant's lash flayeth. 
Swifter and swifter fierce jNIisery slayeth ; 
Tighter and tighter the grip of Toil groweth, 
Nearer and nearer the dark Ruin floweth. 
And still ye bear on, and ye faint heart and 

breath , 
Till ye creep, scourged hounds, to your kennel of 

death : 
down to the dust with ye, cowards and slaves. 
Plague-stricken cumber-grounds, slink to your 

graves ! 



120 ANATHEMA MARANATllA. 

Love is the crown of all life, but ye wear it not ; 
Freedom, Humanity's palm, and ye bear it not; 
Beauty spreads ban([uet lor all, but ye share it not; 
Grimmer the blinding veil glooms, and ye tear it 

not. 
Weaving your life-flowers in Wrong's robe of glory, 
Ye stint in your starkness with hearts smitten 

hoary : 
down to the dust with ye, cowards and slaves, 
Plague-stricken cumber-grounds, slink to your 

graves ! 

They have broken our hearts for their hunger, and 

trod 
The wine-press for Death, with tlie grapes of our 

God; 
And ye lick their feet, red with your blood, like 

dumb cattle : 
Ah ! better and braver to meet them in battle ! 
The bow that Tell drew hath lost none of its spring, 
But ye nerve not with daring the arrow and string : 
Then down to the dust Avith ye, cowards and 

slaves. 
Plague-stricken cumber-grounds, slink to your 

graves ! 

There 's a curse on the Mammonites fiery and fell, 

Gold turns their hard hearts into hearthstones for 
hell ; 

And there's wringing of hands with the Knave and 
the Tyrant, 

For God's graven autograph 's on their death-war- 
rant. 

While lordlier manhood "neath Freedom's heart 
ycarneth , 

Up now ! while before ye the fire-jtillar biirncth ! 

Or down to the dust with ye, cowards and slaves, 

Down, down for ever, and slink to your graves ! 



LITTLE LILYBELL. 121 



LITTLE LILYBELL. 

When unseen fingers part the leaves, 

And show us Beauty's face ; 
And Earth her breast of glory heaves, 

And glows from Spring's embrace : 
When Flowers on green and golden wings 

Float up — Life's sea cloth swell 
And flush a world of vernal things, — 

Came little Lily bell. 

And like a blessed Bird of calm 

Our love's sweet wants she stilled, 
Made Passion's fiery wine run balm, — 

Life's glory half fulfilled ! 
From dappled dawn to twinkling dark. 

This witching Ariel 
Fills all our heaven : or like a Lark 

Sings little Lily bell. 

And she is fair, very fair, — 

Has eyes so like the dove ! 
And lightly leans her world of care 

Upon our arms of love ! 
It cannot be that ye will break 

The promise-tale ye tell. 
Ye will not make such fond hearts ache, 

little Lilybell ! 

As on Life's stream her leaflets spread. 

And tremble in its flow, 
We shudder, lest the awful Dead 

Pluck at her from below ! 
Breathe softly low, ye Winds that start,— 

stream, but faintly swell : 
Your every motion smites the heart, 

For little Lilybell. 



122 THE GOLDEX WEDDING-RING. 

We tremble : lest the anorel Death, 

Who comes to gather flowers 
For Paradise — at her sweet l)reath, 

Should fall in love with ours ! 

many a year ma}^ come and go 
Ere from Life's mystic well 

Such stream shall How — such flower shall blow, 
As our sweet Lily bell. 

Oh ! when thy dear heart fills with fears. 
And aches with Love's sweet pain, 

And pale cheeks burn thro' happy tears 
Like red Rose in the rain — 

1 marvel Sweet ! if we shall see 
The sight and say 'tis well. 

When the Beloved calls for thee. 
Our dainty Lilybell ? 

IIoAv rich Love made the loAvly sod 

AVhere such a Flower hath blown ! 
Love, we love, and think that God 

Is such a love full-grown ! 
Dear God, that gave the blessed trust, 

Be near, that all be well. 
And morn and eve bedew our dust, 

For love of Lilybell. 



THE GOLDEN WEDDING-RING. 

With a white hand like a lady, 
And a heart as merry as Spring, 

I am ripe and I am ready 
Fur a ffolden wedding-ring. 



THE GOLDEN TTEDDING-RING. 123 

As the earth with sea is boimded , 
And the Winter-world with Spring, 

So a Maiden's life is rounded 
With a golden wedding-ring. 

This old world is scarce worth seeing, 
Till Love waves his purple wing, 

And we gauge the bliss of being, 
Thro' a golden wedding-ring. 

Would you draw far Edens nearer 
And to Earth the angels bring. 

You must seek the magic mirror 
Of a golden wedding-ring. 

I have known full many a Maiden 

Like a white Rose withering, 
Into fresh ripe beauty redden 

Thro' a golden wedding-ring. 

Fainting spirits oft grow fearless. 
Sighing hearts will soar and sing. 

Tearful eyes will laugh out tearless, 
Thro' a golden wedding-ring. 

There's no jewel so worth wearing. 
That a Lover's hands may bring. 

There's no treasure worth comparing 
With a golden wedding-ring. 

As the crescent Moon rings golden 

Her full beauty perfecting. 
Woman's glory is unfolden 

In a golden wedding-ring. 

Ah ! when hearts are wildly beating. 
And when arms all glowing cling, 

Think Love's circle wants completing 
With a golden wedding-ring. 



124 TUE UNliELOVED. 



THE UNBELOVED. 

Like a tree beside the river 

Of her life that runs from me. 
Do I lean me, murmuring ever 

My fond love's idolatry : 
And I reach out hands of blessing, 

And I stretch out hands of prayer, 
And with passionate caressing, 

AVaste my life upon the air. 
In my ears the Syren river 

Sings, and smiles up in my face ; 
But, for ever and for ever, 

Buns from my embrace. 

Spring by spring, the branches duly 

Clothe themselves in tender Flower, 
And for her sweet sake as truly 

All their fruit and fragrance shower ; 
But, the stream with careless laughter, 

Buns in merry beauty by. 
And it leaves me yearning after — 

Lone to ■weep, and lone to die ! 
In ni}' ears the Syren river 

Sings, and smiles up in my face ; 
But, for ever and for ever. 

Buns from my embrace. 

I stand 'mazed in the moonlight, 

O'er its happy face to dream ! 
I am ])arched in the noonlight, 

By that cool and brimming stream ! 
I am dying 1)y the river 

Of her life tliat runs from me ! 
"NVhih^ it sparkles by me ever 

With its cool felicity ! 



DESERTED. 125 

In my ears the Syren river 

Sings, and smiles up in my face ; 

But, for ever and for ever, 
Runs from my embrace. 



DESERTED. 

Love came to me in a rosy cloud, 

With a golden glory kist ; 
And cauglit me up, and in heaven vre rode, 

Till it melted in mournful mist. 
Gone ! gone ! is the light that shone, 

AVith the dream of my earlier day : 
And the wild winds moan, and alone, alone, 

I wander my weary way. 

The days come and go, and the seasons roll, — 

In their gl<.>ry they pass me by ; 
And the lords of life and the happy in soul 

Walk under a smiling sky. 
And the sweet springtide comes back to earth, o'er 

The soothed winter sea ; 
But He will return no more, no more, 

Never come back to me. 

It were better that I lay sleeping 

With his baby upon my breast. 
When the weary have done with their weeping. 

And the wretched are rockt to their rest. 
The world is a desolate, dreary one, 

And full of sad tears at best : 
God, take back thy wandering weary one, 

Like a wounded bird home to its nest. 



126 LOVE IN IDLENESS. 



LOVE IX IDLENESS. 

We sit serenely 'neath the Night, 
As still as stars, "vvitli swift delight ; 
In tears, that tell how in Life's deep 
The hidden pearls of beauty sleep ; 
And silent, as of sleeping Seas, 
And quiet, as of dreaming Trees : 
The river of our bliss runs filled. 
Its faintest happy murmur stilled. 

Upon my forehead rests thy palm, 
And on my spirit rests thy calm : 
I cannot see thy face, but know 
Its sea of rose-bloom hath a glow 
Like ruby light : and richly lies 
The dew" and shadows in thine eyes ; 
That ask how they may soothliest bless, 
Like crystal-wells of tenderness. 

Warm fragrance, like the soul o' the South, 
Is round thee ; and thy damask mouth 
Dissolves me in delicious death, 
It doth so breathe ambrosial breath ! 
Musk-roses blowing in the gloom, 
Drop fragrance fainting in the room ; 
And such tine sadness tills the air, 
Ripe Life a bloom of dew doth wear. 

We sit, with silent glory crowned. 

And Love's arms wound in amorous round ; 

As on rich clouds of fragrance swim 

The summer dusk, so cool, and dim ! 

While we our fields of pleasure reap, 

Our Babes lie in the wood of Sleep ; 

One — first love's dream of beauty wrought ! 

One — the more perfect after-thought ! 



DOWN IN AUSTRALIA. 127 

The harping hand hath dulled the lyre 
Of thrilling heart-strings. By their fire 
Droopt low, the dreamy Passions doze, 
In large luxuriance of repose. 
I only see — that thou art near ; 
I only feel — I have thee, Dear ! 
I only hear thy throbbing heart, 
And know that we can never part. 



DOWN IN AUSTRALIA. 

Quaff a cup. and send a cheer up for the Old Land ! 
We have heard the Reapers shout, 
For the Harvest going out. 
With the smoke of battle closing round the bold 
Land ; 
And our message shall be hurled 
Up the ringing sides o' the Avorld, 
There are true hearts beating for you in the Gold 
Land. 

We are with you in your battles, brave and bold 
Land ! 
For the old ancestral tree 
Striketh root beneath the sea, 
And it beareth fruit of Freedom in the Gold Land ! 
We shall come too. if you call, 
We shall fight on if you fall, 
Cromwell's land must never be a bought and sold 
Land. 

the standard of the Lord wave o'er the Old Land I 
For, the waiting world holds breath 
While she treads the dew of Death, 

With the sleeve of Peace stript up from her bare, 
bold hand : 



128 DOWX IN AUSTRALIA. 

And her ruddy Rose will bloom 
On the bosum and the toml) 
Of her many Heroes fallen for .the Old Land. 

0, a terror to the Tyrant is the Old Land ! ^ 

lie remembers how she stood . 

With her raiment rolled in l)lood, 
When the tide of battle burst upon the bold Land, 

And he looks with darkened face, 

For he knows the hero-race 
Sweep the harp of Freedom — draw her Sword with 
bold hand. 

Let thy glorious voice be heard, thou great and bold 
Land ! 
Speak the one victorious word, 
And fair Freedom's wandered Bird 
Shall win^ back with leaf of promise from the Old 
Land ! 
And the Peoples shall come out ~ 
From their slavery, with a shout 
For the new world greeting in the Future's Gold 
Land ! 

When the smoke of Battle rises from the Old Land, 
You shall see the Tyrant down. 
You shall see the ransomed cro^vn ; 
On the brow of prisoned peoples, freed with bold 
hand ! 
She shall thrash her foes like corn ; 
They shall eat the bread of scorn ; 
And will sing her song of Triumph in the Gold 
Land. 

Quaff a cup, and send a cheer up from the Gold 
Land ! 
We have heard tlie Reapers shout. 
For the Uarvest going out. 
Seen the smoke of battle closing round the bold 
Land ; 



THE EXILE TO HIS COUNTRY. 129 

And our message shall be hurled 
Up the ringing sides o' the world, 
There are true hearts down here, beating for the 
Old Land. 



THE EXILE TO HLS COUNTRY. 

How dimmed is all thy glory, and how dark the 
shadow falls ! 

And wild the sorrow waileth thro' thy hamlets and 
thy halls ! 

Thy banner burns no longer on the mountains and 
the sea, 

And oh ! the dead are blessed who thy suffering 
may not see. 

How are thy brave ones scattered on many an alien 
strand ! 

Thy darlings leal and true to the dear old Mother- 
land. 

They have bound thee in the grave-clothes, but we 
watch with tears and sighs, 

Till Freedom comes like Christ, and thou like Laza- 
rus shalt rise. 

Thy pale, pale face, my Country, yet shall flush 
with ripening bloom. 

As Nature's color kindles when the breath of 
Spring doth come. 

Oh ! come thou Spring of promise ; mighty Hope, 
put forth thy hand, 

And build thy arch of triumph for the dear old 
Motherland. 

The Birds that follow Summer, they come and they 

depart, 
For the Land of my love, and the home of my 

heart : 



130 THE EXILE TO HlS COUNTRY. 



1' 

)lcs iirl 



And, like a wounded Bird, my spirit tremlj 

the wind. 
And flutters down : and they are gone, and I am 

loft behind ! 

my Dovelets in the net ! the spoiler's bloody 

hand ! 
And I so far away from the dear old Motherland, 

Sometimes when life is darkest, a glory bursts its 

glooms. 
As Lightning thro' the startled night, the face of 

things illumes ; 
A sudden splendor smites me, and ere the thunders 

roll, 

1 see thy face look radiant thro' the darkness of 

my soul ! 
And thou art sitting at the feet of Freedom, great 

and grand. 
Thy children happy in thy smile, tliou dear old 

Motherland. 

thou among the nations, for thy might shalt yet 

be themed, 
Thy fatal curse of Beauty by Love's blessing all 

redeemed ! 
The red wounds where they pierced thee, shall to 

scars of glory turn, 
And in thy tearful eyes the light of boundless life 

shall burn ! 
The heavens are filled with Martyrs, but the earth 

still holds a band 
Who meet in battle yet for the dear old Motherland. 

Ob ! many are the gallant hearts will never answer 

when 
Thy clarion-cry shall call us up to the field again ! 
And many are the tears must fall, and prayers go 

u]i to God, 
But 8wil"t the vintage ripens, and the wine-press 

shall be trod ! 



THE LORDS OF LAND AND MONEY. 131 

The Harvest reddens rich for death ! the Eeapers 

clench the hand, 
And Victory comes to wed his bride, thou dear old 

Motherland. 



THE LORDS OF LAND AND MONEY. 

Sons of Old England, from the sod, 

Uplift the noble brow ! 
Gold apes a mightier power than God, 

And wealth is worshipt now ! 
In all these toil-ennobled lands 

Ye have no heritage : 
They snatch the fruit of youthful hands. 

The staff from weary age. 
tell them in their Palaces, 

These Lords of Land and INIoney ! 
They shall not kill the poor like bees, 

To rob them of Life's honey. 

Thro' long dark years of blood and tears. 

We've toil'd like branded slaves. 
Till Wrong's red hand hath made a land 

Of paupers, prisons, graves ! 
But our long-sufferance endeth now, 

Within the souls of men 
The fruitful buds of promise blow, 

And Freedom lives again ! 
tell them in their Palaces, 

These Lords of Land and Money ! 
They shall not kill the poor like bees. 

To rob them of Life's honey. 

Too long have Labor's nobles knelt 

Before exalted " Rank ; '•' 
Within our souls the iron is felt — 

We hear our fetters clank ! 



132 THE DESERTER FROM TOE CAUSE. 

A glorious voice goes throbbing forth 

From millions stirring now, 
Who yet before these Gods of earth 

Shall stand with unblencht brow. 
t(;ll them in their Palaces, 

These Lords of Land and JNIoney ! 
They shall not kill the poor like bees, 

To rob them of Life's honey. 



1 



THE DESERTER FROM THE CAUSE. 

He is gone : better so. We should know who stand 
under 
Our Banner : let none but the trusty remain ! 
For there's stern work at hand, and the time comes 
shall sunder 
The shell from the pearl, and the chaff from the 
grain ! 
And the heart that thro' danger and death will be 
dutiful — 
Soul that with Cranmer in fire would shake 
hands ; 
With a Life, like a palace-home built for the 
Beautiful ; 
Freedom of all her Beloved demands ! 

He is gone from us ! Yet shall we march on vic- 
torious. 
Hearts burning like Beacons — eyes fixt on the 
Goal! 
And if we fall fighting, we fall like the Glorious ; 
With face to the Stars, and all heaven in the soul ! 
And aye for the brave stir of battle we'll barter 
The sword of life sheatht in the peace of the 
grave : 
And better the fieriest fate of the ]Martyr, 
Than live like the Coward, and die like the 
Slave ! 



THEY ARE BUT GIANTS WHILE WE KNEEL. 133 



THEY ARE BUT GIANTS WHILE WE 
KNEEL. 

Good People ! put no faith in Kings, nor in your 

Princes trust, 
Who break your hearts for bread, and grind your 

faces in the dust ! 
The Palace Paupers look from lattice high and 

mock your prayer : 
The Champions of the Christ are dumb, or golden 

bit they wear ! 
but to see ye bend no more to earth's crime- 
cursed things — 
Ye are God's Oracles : stand forth ! be Nature's 

Priests and Kings ! 
Ye fight and bleed, while Fortune's darlings slink 

in splendid lair ; 
With lives that crawl, like worms through buried 

Beauty's golden hair ! — 
A tale of lives wrung out in tears their Grandeur's 

garb reveals, 
I And the last sobs of breaking hearts sound in their 
i Chariot-wheels ! 

league ye — crush the things that kill all love 

and liberty ! 
They are but Giants while we kneel : One leap, 

AND UP GO We ! 



Trust not to the Priests, their tears are lies, their 
hearts are hard and cold ; 

They lead ye to sweet pastures, where they fleece 
the foolish fold ! 

The Church and State are linkt and sworn to deso- 
late the land : 

Good people, 'twixt these foxes tails, We'll fling a 
fiery brand ! 



134 THEY ARE BUT GIANTS WUILE WE KNEEL. V 

Up, if ye will be free, to golden calves no longer 
bow : 

The nations yearn for liberty — the world is ear- 
nest now ! 

Your bent-knee is half way to hell ! — Up, Serviles, 
from the dust ! 

The Harvest of the free red-ripens for the sickle- 
thrust. 

They're quaking now, and shaking now, who've 
wrought the hurtling sorrow. 

To-day the desolaters, but the desolate To-morrow ! 

Loud o'er their murder's menace wakes the watch- 
word of the Free : 

They are but Giants while we kneel : One leap, 
AND UP GO We ! 

Some bravest patriot-hearts have gone, to break 

beyond the Sea, 
And many in the dungeon have died for you and 

me! 
And still we glut the Merciless — give all Life's 

glory up, 
That stars of flame, and winking eyes, may crown 

their revel-cup ! 
Back, tramplers on the Many ! Death and Danger 

ambusht lie ; 
Beware ye, or the blood may run ! the patient 

people cry : 
Ah ! shut not out the light of hope, or we may 

blindly dash. 
Like Samson in his strong death-grope, and whelm 

ye in the cVash ; 
Think how tliey spurned the People mad, that old 

Regime of France, 
Whoso Iieads like poppies from Death's Scythe fell 

in a bloody dance. 
Ye plead in vain, ye bleed in vain, ah! Blind I 

when will ye see 
They are but Giants while we kneel ? One leap, 

AND UP GO We. 



THE CRY OF THE UNEMPLOYED. 135 

The merry flowers are springing from our last-year 

Martyrs' mould, 
As their dreams had taken blossom telling what 

they would have told ; 
Of all our rainbowed Future : and what this earth 

shall be, 
When we have bartered blows and bonds for life 

and liberty. 
Ah ! what a face of glory shall the weary world 

put on, 
"When Love is crowned, and shall king the heart its 

royal throne I 
we shall see our darlings smile, — who meet us 

tearful now, — 
Ere the Eternal morn breaks gray, on the Beloved's 

brow : 
And Love shall give the kiss of Death no more to 

those we love. 
And pride, not shame, shall flush the face of our 

heart-nestling Dove. 
Rouse, Titans, scale th' Olympus where the hin- 
dering Tyrants be : 
They are but Giants while we kneel : Oxe leap, 

AND UP GO AYe. 



THE CRY OF THE UNEMPLOYED. 

'Tis hard, 'tis hard to wander on through this 

bright world of ours, 
Beneath a sky of smiling blue, on velvet paths of 

flowers, 
With music in the woods, as there were nought but 

joyaunce known. 
Or Angels walkt earth's solitudes, and yet with 

want to groan. 



136 THE CRY OP THE UNEMPLOYED. 

To sec no beauty in the stars, nor in God's radiant 

smile, 
To wail and wander misery-curst I willing, but 

cannot toil. 
There's burning sickness at my heart, I sink down 

famished ! 
God of the wretched, hear my prayer : I would 

that I were dead ! 

HeaYcn droppeth down with manna still in many 

a golden show'r. 
And feeds the leaves with fragrant breath, with 

silver dew the flow'r. 
There's honeyed fruit for bee and bird, with bloom 

laughs out the tree. 
And food for all God's happy things ; but none 

gives food to me. 
Earth, deckt with Plenty's garland-crown, smiles 

on my aching eye, 
The purse-proud, — swathed in luxury, — disdain- 
ful pass me by : 
I've eager hands, and earnest heart — but may not 

work for bread ! 
God of the wretched, hear my pra^-er : I would 

that I were dead ! 

Gold, art thou not a blessed thing : a charm above 
all other. 

To shut up hearts to Nature's cry, when brother 
pleads with brother? 

Hast thou a music sweeter than the voice of loving- 
kindness ? 

No ! curse thee, thou'rt a mist 'twixt God and men 
in outer blindness. 

"Father, come back!" my children cry; their 
voices, once so sweet. 

Now quiver lance-like in my bleeding heart I I 
cannot meet 



I LOVE MY LOVE, AND MY LOVE LOVES ME. 137 

The looks that make the brain go mad, for dear 

ones asking bread — 
God of the wretched, hear my prayer : I wovild 

that I were dead ! 

Lord! what right have the poor towed? Love's 
for the gilded great : 

Are they not form'd of nobler clay, who dine off 
golden plate? 

'Tis the worst curse of Poverty to have a feeling 
heart : 

Why can I not, with iron-grasp, tear out the ten- 
der part ? 

I cannot slave in yon Bastille ! ah no, 'twere bit- 
terer pain. 

To wear the Pauper's iron within, than drag the 
Convict's chain. 

I 'd work but cannot, starve I may, but will not 
beg for bread : 

God of the wretched, hear my prayer : I would 
that I were dead ! 



I LOVE MY LOVE, AND MY LOVE 
LOVES ME. 

The life of life's when for another we're living, 
Whose spirit responds to ours like a sweet Psalter ; 

When heart-smiles are burning, and flame-words 
out-giving 
The lire we have lit on her heart's holy Altar ! 

Love, God's religion ! Love, burning and star- 

ried! 
The soul must be beautiful where thou art pal- 
aced; 

1 mark where thy kiss-seal is set on the forehead, 

I know where thy dew of heaven's richliest 
chaliced. 



138 I LOVE JIY LOVE, AND MY LOVE LOVES ME. 

That radiant brow breaketh thro' cloud and world- 
stain, 
And strong is that soul in the battle of Duty ; 
Smiling May-sunshine thro' Life's Winter-rain, 
All outer things clothing with inner world beau- 
ty ! 
'Tis writ in the face, whose heart singeth fo: 

glee, 
" I love my Love, and my Love loves me." 



Once I was a- weary of life and the world. 

And the voice of Delight on my heart fell ac- 
curst, 
And my eyes oft with tear-drops unweetingly 
pearl'd, 
I had no one to love, tho' with Love my heart 
burst : 
Then on me a sweet dream of Paradise stole — 
Turn'd to radiance the shadows that brooded 
around me ; 
And walking the gardens that Eden my soul, 
One morning, my Love, like another Eve, found 
me : 
She lookt, and a maelstrom of joy whirled my 
bosom ; 
She smiled, and my being ran bliss to tlie brim : 
She spake, and my eager heart flush t into blossom ; 
Dear Heaven ! 'twas the music set to my Life's 
hymn ! 
And up went my soul to God, shouting for 

glee — 
" I love my Love, and my Love loves me." 

I know, Love of mine ! time may nevermore bring 

Back the lost froshnoss that clad my young heart : 

But, looking on thee, dear ! sweet thoughts will 

up-spring. 

As from the cold tomb the green verdure will 

start ! 



» 



THE THREE VOICES. 139 

I look in thine eyes, and, joy to the wee^jer ! 
Their love-light makes sunshine of all my dark 
fears ; 
And what made my heart faint, lifts it now, a 
strong leaper ! 
And rivers of bliss flood its channels of tears. 
I had deem'd its wealth flung on sands barren and 
burning, 
And sweet 'tis to find my Life's current again, 
Caught up in thy Love's precious chalice — re- 
turning 
Like dew that hath been to heaven, dropping in 
rain. 
And my heart's perpetual hymn shall be, 
" I love my Love, and my Love loves me." 



THE THREE VOICES. 

A WAILING voice comes up a desolate road, 
Drearily, drearily, drearily ! 
Where mankind have trodden the by-way of blood. 

Wearily, wearily, wearily ! 
Like a sound from the Dead Sea all shrouded in 
glooms. 
With breaking of hearts, fetters clanking, men 
groaning. 
Or chorus of Ravens, that croak among tombs. 
It comes with the mournfullest moaning : 
" Weep, weep, weep ! " 
Yoke-fellows, listen. 
Till tearful eyes glisten : 
'Tis the voice of the Past : the dark, grim-featured 

Past, 
All sad as the shriek of the midnight blast : 
Weep, weep, weep. 



140 TDE THREE VOICES. 

Tears to wash out the red, red stain, 

AVliere earth hath been fatted 
By brave hearts that rotted, 

And life ran a deUige of hot, bloody rain : 
Weep, weep, weep. 

Another voice comes from the millions that bend, 

Tearfully, tearfully, tearfully ! 
From hearts which the scourges of Slavery rend, 

Fearfully, fearfully, fearfully ! 
From many a worn, noble spirit that breaks. 
In the world's solemn shadows adown in Life's 
valleys. 
From Mine, Forge, and Loom, trumpet-tongued it 
awakes. 
On the soul wherein Liberty rallies : 
" Work, work, work." 
Yoke-fellows, listen. 
Till earnest eyes glisten : 
'Tis the voice of the Present. It bids us, my broth- 
ers. 
Be Freemen : and then for the freedom of others 

Work, work, work! 
For the Many a holocaust long to the Few : 
work wliile ye ma}^ ! 
work while 'tis day ! 
And cling to each other, united and true : 
Work, work, work. 

There cometh another voice sweetest of all, 

Cheerily, cheerily, cheerily! 
And my heart leapeth up at its glorious call, 

Merrily, merrily, merrily ! 
It comes like the soft touch of Spring-tide, un- 
warping 
The thrall of oppression that bound us : 
It comes like a choir of the Seraj^him, harping 
Their gladsomest music around us : 



THE WORKER. 141 

" Hope, hope, hope I " 
Yoke-fellows, listen, 
Till gleeful eyes glisten : 
'Tis the voice of the Future, the sweetest of all, 
That makes the heart leap to its glorious call. 
Hope, hope, hope ! 
Brothers, step forth in the Future's van, 
For the worst is past. 
Right conquers at last, 
And the better day dawns upon suJBfering man : 
Hope, hope, hope. 



THE WORKER. 

I CARE not a curse though from birth he inherit 

The tear-bitter bread and the stingings of scorn, 
If the man be but one of God's nobles in spirit, — 

Though penniless, richly-soul'd, — heartsome, 
though worn — 
And will not for golden bribe lout it or flatter. 

But clings to the Right aye, as steel to the pole : 
He may sweat at the plough, loom, or anvil, no 
matter, 

I'll own him the man that is dear to my soul. 

His hand may be hard, and his raiment be tat- 
ter'd. 

On straAV-pallet nightly his weary limbs rest ; 
If his brow wear the stamp of a spirit unfetter'd, 

I'm mining at once for the gems in his breast. 
Give me the true man, who will fear zot nor falter. 

Though "Want be his guerdon, the tV^orkhouse his 
. goal, 
Till his heart has burnt out upon Liberty's Altar : 

For this is the man I hold dear to my soul. 



142 THE AWAKENING OF TUE PEOPLE. 

True hearts, in this brave world of blessings and 
beauty, 

Aye scorn the poor splendor of losel and lurker ; 
And Toil is creation's crown, Avorship is duty, 

And greater than Gods in old days is the AN^orker. 
For us the wealtli-laden world laboreth ever ; 

For us harvests ripen, Avinds blow, waters roll ; 
And him who gives back in his might of endeavor, 

I'll cherish, — a man ever dear to my soul. 



THE AWAKENING OF THE PEOPLE. 

SWEET is the fair face of Nature, when Spring 
With living flower-rainbow in glory hath spann'd 

Hill and dale ; and the music of birds on the wing 
Makes earth seem a beautiful faery land ! 

And dear is our tirst-love's young spirit-wed bride, 

With her meek eyes just sheathing in tender 
eclipse, 

When the sound of our voice calls her heart's 
ruddy tide. 
Up-rushing in beauty to melt on her lips. 

But Earth has no sight lialf so glorious to see, 

As a People ujvgirding its might to be free. 

To see men awake from the slumber of ages. 

With brows grim from labor, and hands hard 
and tan. 
Start up living heroes, the dreamt-of by Sages ! 
And smite with strong arm the oppressors of 
man : 
To see them come dauntless forth 'mid the world's 
warring, 
Slaves of the midnight-mine ! serfs of tlie sod ! 
Show how the Eternal within them is stirring, 
.And never more bend to a crowned clod : 



PRESS ON. 143 

Dear God ! 'tis a sight for Immortals to see, — 
A People up-girding its might to be free. 

Battle on bravely, sons of humanity ! 

Dash down the cup from your lips, ye Toilers ! 
Too long hath the world bled for Tyrants' insani- 
ty— 
Too long our weakness been strength to our 
spoilers. 
For Freedom and Right, gallant hearts, wrestle 
ever, 
And speak ye to others the proud words that 
won ye : 
Your rights conquer'd once, shall be wrung from 
you never ; 
battle on bravely ; the world's eyes are on ye ; 
And Earth hath no sight half so glorious to see, 
As a People up-girding its might to be free I 



PRESS ON. 

Press on, press on, ye Rulers, in the roused world's 

forward track : 
It moves too sure for ye to put the clock of Free- 
dom back ! 
We're gathering up from near and far, with souls 

in hery glow. 
And Right doth bare its arm of might, to bring the 

spoilers low. 
Kings, Priests, ye 're far too costly, and we weary 

of your rule ; 
We crown no more " Divinity," where Nature 

writeth " Fool! " 
Ye must not bar our glorious path as in the days 

agone ; 
We know that God made Men, not Princes, Kings, 

or Priests, — Press on ! 



144 PRESS ON. 

Press on, press on, ah ! •' Nobles ! " ye have play'd 

a daring game ; 
But your star of strength is falling, fades the pres- 
tige of your name : 
Too long have ye been fed and nurst on human 

blood and tears ; 
The naked truth is known, and Labor leaps to life, 

and swears 
His pride of strength to bloated Ease he will no 

longer give : 
For all who live should labor ; " Lords," then all 

who work might live ! 
The combat comes ! make much of what ye've 

wrung from Fatherland ! 
Press on, press on! To-day we plead, To-morrow 

we'll command. 

Press on I a million pauper-foreheads bend in Mis- 
ery'* dust ; 

God's champions of the golden Truth still eat the 
mouldy crust : 

This damning curse of Tyrants must not kill the 
nation's heart ; 

The spirit in a million Slaves doth pant on fire to 
start, 

And strive to mend the world, and walk in Free- 
dom's march sublime ; 

While myriads sink heart-broken, and the land 
o'erswarms with crime. 

" God ! " they cry, " we die, we die, and see no 
earnest won ! " 

Brothers, join hand and heart, and in the work 
press on, press on ! 



MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE. 145 



MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE. 

Merry Christmas Eve ! in the Palace where 
I knavery 

Crowds all the treasures the fair world can ren- 
der : 
: Where spirits grow rusted in silkenest slavery, 
And life is out-panted, in sloth, and in splendor : 
In gladness and glory, Wealth's darlings were 
meeting, 
j And jewel-claspt fingers linkt softly again ; 
I New friendships were twining, and old friends were 
greeting, 
And twin hearts grew one, in God's golden love- 
chain. 

Merrry Christmas Eve ! in a poor man's grim hovel, 
I There huddled in silence a famishing family ; 
j Church-bells were laughing in musical revel, 

They heard the loud mockery, with brows throb- 
bing clammily ; 
All in the merry time there they sat, mourning — 
Two sons — two brothers — in penal chains 
bleeding ; 
Their hearts wandered forth to the never-returning, 
AYho rose on their vision, pale, haggard, and 
pleading. 

Merry Christmas Eve ! for the rich, as in duty. 
Taste pander 'd and ruby wine woo'd on the 
board. 
Eyes smiled in feign'd glory, on birth, and on 
beauty ; 
And lying lips flatter'd the Mammonite lord. 
iLove-kisses sobb'd out, 'twixt the rollic and rout. 
And Hope went forth, reaping-in long-promist 
treasure. 
10 



146 MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE. 

What matter, tho' hearts might be breaking with- 
out? 
Their groans were unheard in the palace of 
pleasure. 

Merry Christmas Eve ! but the stricken ones heard 

No neighborly welcome, no kind voice of kin ; 
They lookt at each other, but spake not a word, 

While through crevice, and cranny, the sleet 
drifted in. 
In a desolate corner, one, hungor-kill'd, lay. 

And the mother's hot tears were the bosom-babe's- 
food. 
What marvel, Statesmen, what marvel, I pray. 

Such misery nurseth Crime's dark viper-brood ? 

men, angel-imaged in Nature's fair mint, 

And is it for this, ye were fashioned divine ? 
Ah, Where's the god-stamp — Immortality's print? 
Wc are tyrants and slaves, knit in one tortured 
twine : 
That a few, like to gods, may stride over the earth, 
Millions, born to heart-murder, are given in 
pa^u ; 
When will the world quicken for Liberty's birth. 
Which she waiteth, with eager wings beating the 
dawn ? 

False Priests, dare ye say 'tis the will of your God, 
(And shroud the Christ's message in dark so- 
phistry,) 
That these millions of paupers should bow to tho 
sod? 
Up, up, trampled hearts, it's a lie ! it's a lie ! 
They may carve " State " and "Altar " in charac- 
ters golden. 
But Tyranny's symbols are ceasing to win ; 
Be stirring, people, your scroll is unfolden. 
And bright be the deeds ye emblazon therein. 



ALL S RIGHT WITH THE WORLD. 147 



ALL'S RIGHT WITH THE WORLD. 

Sweet Phosphor tricks to a suiile the brow of 

heaven, 
Dawn's golden springs surge into floods of day, 
Lush-leavy woods break into singing, Earth 
From dewy dark rolls round her balmy side, 
And all goes right, and merrily, with the world. 

Spring with a tender beauty clothes the earth, 
Happy, and jewelled like a sumptuous Bride, 
As tho' she knew no sorrow — held no grave : 
No glory dims for all the hearts that break, 
And all goes right, and merrily, with the world. 

Birds sing as sweetly on the blossom'd boughs, 
Suns mount as royally their sapphire throne. 
Stars bud in gorgeous gloom, and harvests yield. 
As tho' man nestled in the lap of Love : 
All, all goes right, and merrily, with the world. 

But slip this silken-folded mask aside. 

And lo. Hell welters at our very feet ! 

The Poor are murder 'd body and soul, the Rich 

In Pleasure's chalice melt their pearl of life ! 

Ay, all goes right, and merrily, with the world. 

Lean out into the looming Future, mark 

The battle roll across the night to come 1 

" See how we right our Wrongs at last," Revenge 

Writes with red radiance on the midnight heaven : 

Yet, all goes right, and merrily, with the world. 

So Sodom, grim old Reveller ! went to death. 
Voluptuous Music throbb'd thro' all her courts. 
Mirth wanton'd at her heart, one pulse before 

Fire-tongues told out her bloody tale of wrong, 

And all went right, and merrily, with the world. 



148 A CHAUNT. 



SONG. 

Gaily the Sun woos the Spring for his bride, 

With kisses all warm and golden ; 
Till the life at her heart she no longer may hide, 

And the wealth of her love is unfolden. 

With kisses, sweet kisses, the mellow Rains start 

The virgin flowers a-blossom : 
And ripen their beauty till fragrant lips part, 

And Love's jewel gleams rich in their bosom. 

Faint with love wingeth the wantoning Wind, 
And yearns as its heart were a-breaking, 

And kisses sweet kisses, till buds be untwined ; 
And the young leaves all are awaking. 

The wrinkled old Sea sidles up the sands. 

And lavishes kisses in showers 
On the Earth, till the Gray-beard's young darling 
stands 

All dressed in her bridal flowers ! 

And there's nothing so dainty-sweet in life. 
As to kiss the Maid glowing and tender. 

Till the heart of the Wife giveth up in the strife. 
Full-flowering in Love's splendor. 



A CIIAUNT. 

FiARTH like a Lover poor and low 
Feasts on Xiglit's queenly lieauty now ; 
While I, with burning heart and brow. 
Awake to weep for thee, Love ! 



149 



The spangled glories of the Night, 

The Moon that walks in soft, white light, 

These cannot win my charmed sight, 

Or lure a thought from thee. Love ! 

I'm thinking o'er the short, sweet hour. 
Our hearts drank up Love's growth of power. 
And summer'd as in Eden's bower, 

When I was blest with thee, Love ! 
There burn'd no beauty on the trees. 
There woke no song of birds or bees. 
But Love's cup for us held no lees. 

And I was blest with thee, Love. 

Then grand and golden fancies spring 
From out my heart on splendid wing. 
Like Chrysalis from Life's wintering, — 

Burst bright and summeringly, Love ! 
And as a Chief of battle lost 
Counts, and recounts his stricken host, 
Stands tearful Memory making most 

Of all that's toucht with thee. Love. 

Perchance in Pleasure's brilliant bower 
Thy heart may half forget Love's power, 
But at this still and starry hour 

Does it not turn to me. Love ? 
0, by all pangs for thy sweet sake. 
In my deep love thy heart-thirst slake, 
Or, all-too-full, my heart must break : 

Break ! break ! with loving thee, Love 



SONG. 

LAY thy hand in mine, dear ! 

We're growing old, we're growing old ; 
But Time has brought no sign, dear, 

That hearts grow cold, that hearts grow cold 



150 ENGLAND GOES TO BATTLE. 

'Tis long, long since our new love 
Made life divine, made life divine ; 

But age euriclieth true love, 

Like noble wine, like noble wine. 

And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, 

And take thy rest, and take thy rest ; 
Mine arms around thee twine, dear, 

And make thy nest, and make thy nest. 
A many cares are pressing 

On this dear head, on this dear head ; 
But Sorrow's hands in blessing 

Are surely laid, are surely laid. 

lean thy life on mine, dear ! 

'Twill shelter thee, 'twill shelter thee. 
Thou wert a winsome vine, dear, 

On my young tree, on my young tree : 
And so, till boughs are leafless. 

And Song-birds flown, and Song-birds flown 
We'll twine, then lay us, griefless, 

Together down, together down. 



ENGLAND GOES TO BATTLE. 

Now, glory to our England, 

As she rises, calm and grand, 
With the ancient spirit in her eyes, — 

The good Sword in her hand ! 
Our royal right on battle-ground. 

Was aye to bear the brunt : 
IIo ! brave heart! for one passionate bound. 

And take th}' place in front ! 
Now glory to our England, 

As she rises, calm and grand, 
With the ancient spirit in her eyes — 

The good Sword in her hand ! 



I 



ENGLAND GOES TO BATTLE. 

Who would not fight for England? 

Who would not flmg a life 
I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage, 

And glory in the strife ? 
Her stem is thorny, but dost burst 

A glorious Rose a-top ! 
And shall our dear Rose wither ? First 

We'll drain life's dearest drop ! 
Who would not fight for England ? 

Who would not fling a life 
I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage, 

And glory in the strife ? 

To battle goes our England, 

All as gallant and as gay 
As Lover to the Altar, on , 

A merry marriage day. 
A weary night she stood to watch 

The battle-dawn up-roU'd ; 
And her spirit leaps within, to match 

The noble deeds of old. 
To battle goes our England, 

All as gallant and as gay 
As lover to the Altar, on 

A merry marriage-day. 

Now, fair befall our England, 

On her proud and perilous road : 
And woe and wail to those who make 

Her foot-prints red with blood ! 
Up with our red-cross banner, — roll 

A thunder-peal of drums ! 
Fight on there, every valiant soul, 

And courage ! England comes ! 
Now fair befall our England, 

On her proud and perilous road : 
And woe and wail to those who make 

Her foot-prints red with blood ! 



151 



152 ENGLAND GOES TO BATTLE. 

Now, victory to our England ! 

And where'er she lifts her hand 
In Freedom's fight, to rescue Kight, 

God bless the dear Old Land ! 
And when the Storm has pass'd away, 

In glory and in calm, 
May she sit down i' the green o' the day, 

And sing her peaceful psalm ! 
Now, victory to our England ! 

And where'er she lifts her hand 
In Freedom's fight, to rescue Right, 

God bless the dear Old Land ! 



CRAIG CROOK CASTLE. 



18 5 6. 



DEDICATION 



WILLIAM STIKLING, ESQ., OF KEIR, M. P. 
FOR PERTH. 

My dear Sir, 

I YENTURE to inscribe this book with your name : 
but for you it might not have been written. It 
falls short of what I had thought to accomplish in 
my plan ; nor do I print from any wish of mine to 
publish hastily. But the truth is, I have had to 
stand siege in " Craigcrook Castle." Surrounded 
by hostile circumstances, its defence has been a 
fight for life, foot by foot, and day by day. Twice, 
also, has death been amongst the little garrison, 
striking his silent blows. We are compelled to 
capitulate, — I trust, on no dishonorable terms; 
although we may not march out with all the pride 
and pasan of anticipation's triumph. 

I pray you accept of this second effort as my 
best for the time being. In other years, God 
willing, I may win a touch more certain, and a 
larger reach, upon a harp of tenser strings. 
I am, my dear Sir, 

Respectfully yours, 

GERALD MASSEY. 



CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 



I. 

Life is at most a Meeting and a Parting ; 
A glimpse into the world of Might-have-been. 
And standing rapt on some new-trodden height, 
We long to build a tabernacle there. 

A sudden glorious glimpse, a nestling face, 
Will bid the kingly moment live for ever. 
Ah, could we paint their picture in the mind, 
And breathe the blessed breath of Beauty back! 

We think how on some heavenly day the Sun 

Gathered his glory for a grand repose ; 

And with her folding stillness Eve came down, 

So meek and shadowy, bringing healing dews, 

While Angels walkt our garden of the soul. 

How on a summer morn the dewy lanes 

In sunny England kist us with the breath 

Of their green mouths, and took us in cool arms. 

Or, in a wondrous Moonlight long ago. 

The face of early Love upturned to us 

Two human stars that swam in bridal dew j 

With brow of virgin white, and cheek's warm 

touch ; 
The full heart's sweetness parting young red lips ; 
And, caught by sweet surprise o' the tender time. 
Our Deity half forgot her veiling cloud. 
And pure soul all in silent beauty smiled. 



158 CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 

So Memory maketh rich the house of life, 
Where our great momeuts come as gorgeous guests ; 
At Fancy's touch the walls with pictures bloom, 
And rosy recollections rise around. 

Even so I linger o'er m}^ perfect day, 
Whose fruitful round of ripe and crowded life 4 
In its sole glory summed a golden age ; ' 

Whose stirred precipitate sweetens all my days ; 
Whose whispering memory cometh like an air 
Of heaven wafting warm immortal breath ; 
Then leaves me softly as the Dove of Day, 
That shakes down dews of freshness as it goes. 



II. 

In that sweet season when the Year is green, 

And hearts grow merry as spring-groves full of 

birds, 
While life for pleasure ripples as it runs ; 
And young Earth putteth forth the lovely things 
She hath l)cen dreamnig through long winter 

nights ; 
Taking the ]May-tide in a golden swim. 
Her blithe heart singing for the flooding cheer ; 
And field and forest clothed in tender leaf. 
Shower after shower, out-smile a livelier green; 
With dainty color the kindling country dawns ; 
Death lieth low ; his hidden footprints l>loom ; 
Upon his grave Life dances all in flowers : 
And lying shell-like on our shore o' the world, 
Thinking to music played by hidden hands. 
We are cauglit up to listening ear of Heaven, 
That leauetli down maternal meek to hear 
Our inner murmurs of the eternal sea : 
Then Craigcrook puts its budding glory on. 



CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 159 

An emerald Eden nestling in the North : 
To which the mariner worn on life's salt wave, 
Might point his prow and find a conqueror's home ; 
And storm-tost Love up-fold his wearied wings, 
Warm on the bosom of mellifluous Rest. 

A happy island in a sea of green. 

Smiling it lies beneath the azure heaven. 

Well pleased, and conscious that each wave and 

wind 
Is tempered kindly or with blessing rich : 
And all the quaint cloud-messengers that come 
Voyaging the blue glory's summer sea 
In barks of beauty, built o' the powdery pearl, 
Soft, shining, sumptuous, blown by languid breath, 
Touch tenderly, or drop with ripeness down. 
Spring builds her leafy nest for birds and flowers, 
And folds it round luxuriant as the Vine 
Whose grapes are ripe with wine of merry cheer 
The Summer burns her richest incense there, 
SwuDg from the censers of her thousand flowers : 
Brown Autumn comes o'er seas of glorious gold : 
And there old Winter keeps some greenth of heart. 
When on his head the snows of age are white. 

Mid glimpsing greenery at the hill-foot stands 

The castle with its tiny town of towers : 

A smiling Martyr to the cli^ibing strength 

Of Ivy that will crown the old bald head. 

And Koses that will mask him merry and young, 

Like an old Man with Children round his knees. 

With cups of color reeling Roses rise 

On walls and bushes, red and yellow and white ; 

A dance and dazzle of Roses range all round. 

The path runs down and peeps out in the lane 
That loiters on by fields of wheat and bean. 
Till the white-gleaming road winds city-ward. 
Afar, in floods of sunshine blinding white. 



160 CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 

The City lictli in its quiet pride, 

AVith castled crown, looking on Towns and Shires, 

And Ilills from which cloud-highlands climb the 

heavens : 
A happy thing in glory smiles the Firth ; 
Its flowing azure winding like an arm 
Around the warm waist of the yielding land. 



III. 

I ROSE betimes upon my day of days ; 

Through faery forests of the lady fern, 

Went up the Avooded height to see the Dawn, 

That new, eternal Picture fresh from God, 

Quicken and color into perfect life. 

Quietly, quietly slept the world beside 

The sepulchre of the dark, till Light awoke. 

The haunting spirit of each lonely place 

Seemed passing through the still and solemn wood. 

What breath of life the breeze of morning blew ! 

What dewy smell and after-sense of showers 

Came kissing like rich airs from secret shores 

To those who sail into the eternal dawn ! 

Bird after bird the sweet sharp stillness stirred. 

As Earth were warliling some new tune of joy 

With which her heart gusht, and its radiance fired 

Her face, as she arrayed to meet the morn. 

The meek and melting amethyst of dawn 

Blusht o'er the blue hills in the ring o' the world ; 

Up purple twilights came the golden sea 

Of sunlight breaking in a silent surge ; 

And Morning like the birth of Beauty rose. 

With sunny music up the sparkling heaven, 

While, at a rosy touch, the clouds that lay 

In sullen purples round the hills of Fife, 

Adown her pathway spread their cloaks of gold : 



CRAIGCROOK CASTLE, JQl 

I The silvery-green-and- violet sheen o' the sea 
Changed into shifting opal tinct with gold • 

- And hke an Alchymist with furnace-face, 
The sun smiled on his perfect work, pure gold. 

The breath of Dawn brought God's good-mornino. 
kiss ° 

To bud and leaf and flower, and human hearts 
Ihat like pond-lilies open heavenward eyes 
Sweet lilies of the valley, tremulous fair 
Peep through their curtains claspt with diamond 

dew 
By faery jewellers working while they slept ; 
The arch Laburnum droops her buddino- gold 
Froni emerald fingers, with such taking grace • 
ihe Fuschia fires her fairy chandelry, 
And flowering Currant crimsons the green gloom • 
The Pansies, pretty little puritans. 
Come peering up with merry elvish eyes : 
At Summer's call the Lily is alight : 
w-^V"^?^^^"^ ^^ fragrance burn themselves away 
V\ ith the sweet Season on her precious pyre • 
Pure passionate aromas of the Rose, ' 

And purple perfume of the Hyacinth, 
Come like a color thro' the golden day. 
I A summer soul is in the Limes ; they stand 
! Low murmuring honied things that wing forth 



Their busy whisperings done, the Plane-trees hush » 
-But lo, a warm wind winnowing odor-rain 
Goes breathing by, and there thej curtsey meek 
Or toss their locks in frolic wantonness, 
While a great gust of joy runs shiverino; thro' 

them ; 
All the leaves thrill and sparkle wild as wings 
Voluptuously ripening in the sun. 
The Meadows swell their bosom plump with life, 
io pasture sauntering sheep, and ruminant kine • 
And Kingcups spread their tiny laps to take ' 



162 CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 

The lavish largess showered down from heaven ; 
And, garnering the warm gold, nod and laugh. 
The Birds low-crooning o'er their sweet Spring- 
tunes 
Still touch them with a riper luxury : 
That Blackbird with the wine of joy is nu'llow, 
And in his song keeps laugliing, he's so jolly, 
To think how summer pulps the fruit for him. 
His Apple-tree hath felt the ruddying breath 
Of ^lay upon her yielding leafy lips, 
And broke in kisses trembling for delight ; 
Look how her red heart blushes warm in white ! 
Deep after deep the generous heart of Sjiring, 
So golden-full of glad days, flusht in bloom. 
Ripe with all sweetness. 

Crown us, lusty leaves I 
Shake down your gathered coolness, greon 
leaves ! 



IV. 

At Craigcrook Castle all a Summer day 
We had rich talk and sweet society. 
To floating idled with bright Olympian life. 
Under the tender trees we sat, and watcht 
All nature couched in a calm da^'-dream ; 
The rich World in her blooming airy nest, 
Warm-burnishing her colors like a Bird 
0' the Sun, to soar on silent wings of light ; 
And Heaven brooding down with golden eye, 
AVhere Sunlight, seeking hidden Sliadow, toucht 
The green leaves all a-tremble with gold light, 
And ripjded grass caressed us with its smiles. 
While One whose looks were mild as they had 

drawn 
A Christ-like sweetness from the face of Babes, — 



CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 163 

His brow the triumph-arch of royal soul — 
A Prodigal of Freedom whose great heart, 
Big as the world it floods with wealth to-day, 
Must eat to-morrow of the Stranger's husks — 
Prometheus on his rock of exile — told 
The vision passing solemn thro' his soul. 

Ah ! how they drank the breath of Battle, won 
Its swarthy bloom, those spirits fiery-fine ! 
0, gallant hearts, how stalwartly they stood ; 
How fought the faithful, how the deathless died ! 
And there in saviour sepulchres they sleep, 
Crowned with the diadem o' the kingly Dead ; 
Green graves on earth, — high memories in heaven. 
And how the night came down with treachery 

dark. 
But reddened with the light of burning homes, 
That lit the Hangman while he knit his noose : 
Then silence, at the hush of Death, above ; 
Nought but a ghastly Golgotha below. 

And 0, but hearts flew out, like Freedom's bird. 

To flap their wings upon the flag of war. 

And fierce looks flasht, and prayers went up to 

God, 
In fiery chariots of our fervent hearts. 
And eyes were frenzied with noble tears to see 
That Exile by the hounds of torture trackt ; 
Who, while they tore his stricken life, still drank 
His cup of trembling, smiling very calm. 

Fight on, thou Hero ! Heaven's glooming look 
Frowns only on the wrong. This dark shall break 
In resurrection hour. The chariot wheels 
Of coming Vengeance spin too swift for sight. 
The Nemesis of Nations only waits, 
Until the glass of Destiny runs out. 
To wake the Murderers with her whip of fire, 
Caught by the hair in sudden hands of Hell ! 



164 CRAIGCltOOK CASTLE. 

While in a ruddy rain old Earth laughs up. 
O, we shall see a sight ere England's sun 
Goes down behind lier hills of gathered gold ! 
The time of times, the year of years is nigh ! 
When Spring's J^oung hopes lie dead, and her 

sweet buds 
Are low in the dust, our Autumn fruitage comes. 
Princes shall meet thee in thy Country's gate ; 
The Banner yet shall crown her topmost height, 
And all the world shall see it wavins there. 



V. 



Ix the green quiet of a neighboring knoll 
There sat and sang a beauteous company ; 
Surging a soul-ache of deliciousnctis. 
AuRELiA with the royal eyes, and breast 
Bounding with hurrying heart, wave-wanton, for 
A ripe repose on some Elysian shore : 
A glorious passion-flower of Womanhood 
Come, golden-natured, to its summer throne : 
Her eyes, the stars of burning dreams, so rapt 
The spirit moth-like for their tire, you might 
Have gone to death by sword-liglit for their smile. 
And sullen beauty of her mouth's ripe bloom. 
And JNIabel, saintly sweet and fairily line 
As maiden rising from enchanted mere ; 
Pale as a lily crowned with moonlight calm : 
A queenly creature with her quiet grace. 
And dazzling white hand veined cerulean : 
Upon her warm-waved hair the rippled' lisht 
Played soft, and toucht it into cloudy gold ; 
Her eyes of violet-irray were colored rich 
With gloom of tender thounrht, and mirrored large 
AVithin them, starry futures swam and shone: 
Ah ! what a smile to light a life with light, 



CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 1G5 

And make the waking heart to sing in sleep I 

Ah ! what a lamp to light some heaven of love ; 

The perfect pearl of her star-purity ! 

And stately Charmian with her grander calm , 

Like a Greek Goddess Statue that had raised 

The veil of being in some diviner dawn , 

And yearning Love did woo her into Woman, 

His burning kiss budding her dainty rose ; 

With merry melting mouth and subtle eyes, 

And warm heart smiling her white silence through, 

She rose up in her crown the Queen of Smiles 

With all the old majesty, unweeting of 

The old worship conscious hearts in silence pay ; 

Our English vesture cannot mask her mould. 

Above her brow the star of Genius shed 

A tender radiance in her night of hair. 

And She, with dancing sparkle in her eyes, 

Like sun-kist waters twinkling sapphirine, 

Our Seeress with whose soul the Spirits walk : 

Who told strange mysteries in AVaking Sleep, 

And held your hand and read your Book of life ; 

Whose presence weirdly took the throbbing heart 

Bird-like, as it were caught in spirit-hands ; 

AVhose visioned face would shine so glorified. 

You lookt with heavenward instinct up to see 

Whence came such beauty as brake thro' Raphael's 

dream. 
They sang those wailing old Scotch songs that set 
The heart-strings all a-tremble for their harp : 
In which melodious Passion breaks its heart 
For evermore, and finds no spousal words.. 
And crossing in the music's airy storm. 
Spirit with spirit toucht in tingling kiss ; 
Till every nerve stretcht like" a telescope 
For Life to draw the moving heaven down. 



166 CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 



VI. 



Some played at bowls upon the velvet sward, 
And drank old ale with ruby flame in it, 
Where sunny laurels twinkled silver lifihts ; 
While others traced the footprints of old Time,, 
LonjT fossilized : some by the Sea — that glowed 
In livinjT azure and inviolate calm — 
Peered in the portal of its wonder-world. 
We showered playful palms down in the path. 
And deckt with flowers the marriafje-robe of One 
Who broujjht his beauteous Bride in triumph 

home : 
A jolly Briton, princely to tlie poor. 
His rich heart-warming ruddiness of look 
Might make an east wind reel ofl" mellow and mild : 
So sunnily his inner ripeness smiled : 
And stalwart stood the sheltering wall of his life, 
For climbing flower and fruit to hud and bear. 
Her fragrant weight of warm and rosy life, 
That dwined with tender want of folding arms. 
Half-sad with sweetness like a dew-droopt flower. 
Stirs in his smile and rises ruddy and calm, 
With breath that maketh dim his dallying eyes : 
A youno- Aurora of warm womanhood 
(ilowing imperial as the sun-toucht Rose ! 
Her eyes wide-wakened by Love's quickening 

kiss, — 
Sweet-drunken with the wine of tears, — foreshow 
How Love hath hived liis hone}' in her heart. 
And there they walk their rosy marriage time. 
With gracious words that brighten listening brows 
Like crowns of splendor, as the first pair walkt 
Tiieir morning of the world in paradise. 

Our Poet, Rubens, laught at AVedded Love, 
And drew a piteous picture of our friend 



CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 1C7 

Tn harness, drawing the matrimonial car, 
Heavily laden, along the ruts of life. 
Bat in his voice there hissed a thirsty sound. 
As when the dry leaves rustle for the rain. 
With longing eyes he mockt the glowing grapes, 
And six Aveeks after held out eager hands, 
To take the bonds that bind for evermore : 
And quietly joined the herd of pastured Slaves, 
Where nuptial Love through sweet tears on him 
smiled. 

Up spoke our Host. A sunny life was his 
Among his children, breathing blooms of health. 
He, like a rennet Apple wrinkle-ripe. 
Hived full of sweetness, fragrant to the taste, 
Tho' Sorrow's tooth should strike the brave heart's 

core. 
He had the happy soul which, like the Bee, 
Rocks with delight upon a thistle-top, 
Or finds voluptuous honey on wild moors. 
And cheerily he chirpt of Wedded Love, 
And Home our refuge from the mad-world-strife, 
Where we may keep the spirit-sandals clean, 
We soil so on our treadmill of a world ; 
And open heaven in the shut-up heart : 
Where love may help us hand-in-hand across 
The dark stream of Eternity, as Life 
On starry stepping-stones goes up to God. 
Just now the Flower of England made a crown 
To garland whoredom's apotheosis : 
Revelling, with unhallowed light of eyes, 
Upon the Wanton's glance, and wicked grace. 
All honeyed with warm witchery of Sin : 
Circe enchanted with lewd sorceries 
That slide into the whitest sanctuaries ; 
Befoul the palace-chambers precious-lined, 
And canker all the virgin flower of life 
I' the delicate sweetness of its budding time ! 



168 CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 

Ah ! how it made him turn to his dear nest, 
And proudly yearn o'er his sweet marriage guest, 
AYho made their little world so bright with bliss, 
It drew God's angels blessing-laden down. 
And as he spoke, the dead flowers in our hearts 
All pressed and precious, softly stirred with life ; 
Bloomed on our brows, and shed a fragrance round. 

In silence sat our Crimean Hero, he 
Who told us how they fought at Inkermann : 
Ilis heart swam up in tears at thoughts of Homo. 
The roar and rack of Battle over and gone ; 
No more surprises in the bloody trench. 
Where midnight swarmed with visions horrible, 
And earth was like a fiery coast of hell ! 
All that long aching wintriness of soul. 
Warm-melted in the arms of Wedded Love, 
That drew him from the bloody battle-press. 
And claspt him safe in their serene of heaven. 
Where Past and Future crown him as they kiss. 
And with dumb eloquence his poor armstump 

moved , 
As it were dreaming of a dear embrace. 



VII. 

A SILVERED Sage like some old pictured Saint, 
Smilingly took the crucial hand of Doul)t, 
And tlirust stern fingers in his spirit-wounds; 
And told us how he hunted shadows once. 
And felt his spiritual pulse ten times a day, 
With thoughts of Self fatal as Herod's worms. 
And how the Child rose up and led tlie Man 
Back very lowly to their Mother's knee : 
Worshipping God as in the dear old days. 



CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 169 

" ' They wrought in faith,' and not ' They wrought 

in doubt,' 
Is the j)roud epitaph inscribed above 
Our glorious Dead who in their grandeur lie. 
Crowned with the garland of eternity. 
Because they did believe, and conquered Doubt, 
They lived great lives and did their deathless deeds, 
Who in the old time walkt their perilous way, 
"With the gray hairs of kingly sorrow crowned : 
Who laid their heads upon the bloody block 
For their last pillow : who amid the flames 
Bore witness still, and with their quivering hands 
Sowed every wind with sparks of fiery thought. 
Because they did believe, we kneel to read 
Where men and angels mingle tears of joy. 
Because he did believe, Columbus sailed 
For that new world his inner eyes had seen. 
He found : so Faith its new worlds yet shall find. 
While Doubt shakes its wise head and stays behind . 
Newton believed for many a year before 
The Hand in Heaven shook the apple down. 
Because we have believed, our knowledge comes : 
Belief, not Doubt, will touch the secret spring. 
Belief is that soul-attitude which sees 
How the pure distance of some infinite sea 
Relieves the dark ground of our inland life. 
And feels the fresh spray make its roses bloom. 
But Doubt turns from the light, and only sees 
The Shadow that it casts, and follows it ; 
For Doubt is ever its own Deity : 
The Shadow still dilates on darkened eyes, 
And lengthens as the awful night comes down. 

" Life is a maze, but God i' the centre there sits. 
I wailed and wandered in the winding ways ; 
Against the thorns with bleeding bosom beat, 
And vainly shouted to the passing stars, — 
Those silent spirit-vanishing points of space, — 
That voyaged Ship-like on nor saw my wreck. 



170 CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 

I shriekt out with the scomers, * There's no God ! ' 

Sat on the womb o' the world like Babe unborn, 

And blindly said, ' There is no life to come.' 

Then my Beloved came and drew me in 

A little nearer to the heart of light. 

A lightning-glimpse from out the cloud of Death 

Stern revelation rifted, and I fell 

Prone on my face, heart-broken in the dust. 

Her vase of love was broken at my feet, 

And all the precious perfume filled my life. 

Breathed thro' the dark a still voice low and sweet : 

' Let Faith but climb the tree of prayer, and 

watch 
And wait, the Lord will surely pass that way.' 
And down a dream of peace a spirit hand 
Slid into mine, and at its dewy touch 
Existence melted in the dawning heaven. 
And human flowering of divine delight. 
It led me to my kneel ing-place among 
The pilgrims of the world who st)ught in vain. 
And closed their eyes in tears, to suddenly find 
God sitting in llis temple of the soul." 

A soul of sweetness from each wrinkle smiled ! 
There was a strange glory in the old Man's eyes. 
Which with Life's setting sjtlendur, shone a-glow, 
Like windows lighted in a sinking sun 
That paints f.iir morrow. Pleasant was the sight. 
For he had reacht the shining Sunset Isles 
That fade into the eternal Heavens, and Lo ! 
The Ilesper of a happy memory smiles. 



viri. 

Now Sunset burns. A sea of gold on fire 
Sm'enely surges around purple isl(»s : 
O'er billows and flame-furrows Day goes down. 
Far-watching clouds with ruby glimmer bloom ; 



CRAIGCROOK CASTLE. 171 

A scattered crowd, that on its face still wears 
The splendid light and life of some brave show. 
Dews swarm upon the flowers like silent bees, 
And quiet fire-flies glittering in the grass. 
Husht woods grow solemn dark ; the blue peaks 

fade ; 
Weird mists rise white, and gracious Twilight 

comes. 
Sweet is the mystery of her loveliness ; 
And all things feel her dim divinity. 

" Now for a rouse within the house, and there 

Shake off the purple sadness of the night," 

Cried one : " Come let us a Symposium hold. 

And each one to the banquet bring their best 

In song or story ; all shall play a part." 

So, raptuously we hailed lord o' the feast, 

Our great Messiah in Midwifery, He 

Who wrestled with the fiend of corporal pain. 

And stands above the writhing Agony, 

Like Michael with the Dragon 'neath his heel : 

Who is in soul — Love riding on a Lion ; 

In body — a Bacchus crowned with head of Jove : 

The keen life looks out in his lighted face 

So fulgent that the gazer's brightens too : 

He grandly towers above our fume and fret, 

Like the old Hills whose feet are in the surge. 

And on their lifted brows the eternal calm : 

For he is one of those prophetic spirits 

That are the World's night-dreams of things to 

come. 
And thus he broacht our garrulous Hippocrene ; 
And round and round the chalice went till morn. 



THE 



MOTHER'S IDOL BROKEN. 



THE MOTHER'S IDOL BROKEN. 



I. 

Twice the Mother had div^d down 

Into her sea of sorrow ; 
my love ! my life ! my own sweet Wife ! 

God send you a merry good-morrow. 
Betide her weal, or betide her woe, 

-Her smile it was calm and fearless ; 
And proud were her eyes as she rose with the prize, 

A pearl in her palms, my peerless ! 

found you a little sea-syren. 

In some perilous palace left ? 
Or is it a little child-angel. 

Of her high-born kin bereft? 
Or came she out of the Elfin-land, 

By earthly love beguiled ? 
Or hath the sweet Spirit of Beauty 

Taken shape as our starry Child ? 

Dear, do but look in her love-nest of sweets, 

Where she lies in a smiling calm : 
Wee armful of fruitage ; a sheaf of ripe bliss ; 

On a bosom breathing balm. 
Fresh as the drop of dew cradled at morn, 

On the leaves of a lily in blossom ; 
Sweet as the fragrance newly born 

In a violet's virgin bosom. 



176 THE mother's idol drokex. 



II. 

God's Butterfly on our love's flower aliglit! 

It secmeth the beautiful thing, 
At the first surmise of the heaven she hath left, 

For the winterless world will wing. 
So we fold her about with our love as 'twere heaven, 

Around her weave many a wile ; 
And our hearts up-leap, living fountains of joy ; 

In the golden dream of her smile. 



III. 

On my ripely rounding Rose-tree, 

Dreaming of life are three flowers : 
One pusheth up her ruby -rose-cup, 

For the rain of God's quickening showers. 
With a magical burst of beauty, one glows 

Dewily-dear in the sheen of love ; 
And one pretty Softling, our baby-bud-rose, 

Lies tenderly shut in the green of love. 



IV. 

O FAIR befall my dainty flowers. 

Summering on their stem ; 
Smiling up to the crowning Kosc, 

As she smileth down to them. 
Smiling up to their Queen in her beauty. 

That smiles on each bonny breast-gem 



THE mother's idol BROKEN. 177 

Blossoming, brimming with love for her 

Who leans ruddy with love over them ! 
fair befall my dainty flowers, 

Summering on their stem. 
And the armful of rich love, 

My fragrant human Roses ! 
Smile on them all, sweet Heaven, 

And kiss my darling Roses. 



V. 

There be three little maidens ; three loving maid- 
ens; 

Three bonny maidens mine ; 
Three precious jewels are set in Life's crown, 

On prayer-lifted brows to shine. 
Six starry eyes, all love-luminous, 

Look out of our heaven so tender ; 
Since the honey-moon, glowing and glorious. 

Arose in its ripening splendor. 

There's Lilybell, duchess of wonderland. 

With her dance of life, dimples and curls ; 
Whose bud of a mouth into red kisses bursts 

A-smile with the wanton white pearls : 
And Sweetcheek, our rosily-goldening peach 

On the sunniest side o' the wall ; 
But Marian's Mother's darling, 

Marian's idol of all. 



VI. 

Like the merry voice-bird that sings on the bough, 

I sing, my brooding Dove, 
To a nest I know in the leaves below. 

Full of eyes alive with love. 
12 



178 THE mother's idol BROKEN'. 

Two of our little Birds wander on wings, 
One doth but flutter and fall ; 

Sing, Marian Mother's wee darling, 
Marian's Idol of all. 



VII. 

All in our marriage garden 

Grew, smiling up to God, 
A bonnier flower than ever 

Suckt the green warmth of the sod. 
beautiful unfathomably 

Its little life unfurled ; 
Life's crown of sweetness was our wee 

White Rose of all the world. 

From out a gracious bosom, 

Our bud of beauty grew ; 
It fed on smiles for sunshine, 

And tears for daintier dew. 
Aye nestling warm and tenderly. 

Our leaves of love were curled 
So close and close about our wee 

White Kose of all the world. 

Two flowers of glorious crimson 

Grew with oar Rose of light ; 
Still kept the sweet heaven-grafted slip 

Her whitoness saintly white. 
I' the wind of life they danced with glee. 

And reddened as they whirled ; 
White, white and wondrous grew our wee 

White Rose of all the world. 

^Vith mystical faint fragrance, 
Our house of life sho Hlled — 



THE mother's idol BROKEN. 179 

Revealed each hour some fairy tower, 
Where' winged Hopes might build. 

We saw — though none like us might see — 
Such precious promise pearled 

Upon the petals of our wee 
White Rose of all the world. 

But evermore the halo 

Of Angel-light increased ; 
Like the mystery of Moonlight, 

That folds some fairy feast. 
Snow-white, snow-soft, snow-silently. 

Our darling bud up-curled, 
And dropt i' the Grave — God's lap — our wee 

White Rose of all the world. 

Our Rose was but in blossom ; 

Our life was but in spring ; 
When down the solemn midnight 

We heard the Spirits sing : 
" Another bud of infancy, 

With holy dews impearled ; " 
And in their hands they bore our wee 

White Rose of all the world. 

You scarce could think so small a thing 

Could leave a loss so large ; 
Her little light such shadow fling. 

From dawn to sunset's marge. 
In other springs our life may be 

In bannered bloom unfurled ; 
But never, never match our wee 

White Rose of all the world 



180 TUE MOTUEli's IDOL BROKEN. 



VIII 



1 



This is a curl of our poor " Splcndid's " hair ! 
A sunny burst of rare and ripe young gold — 
A ring of sinless gold that weds two worlds ! 
Our one thing left with her dear life in it. 
Poor Misers ! o'er it secretly we sum 
Our little savings hoarded up in Heaven, — 
Our rich love-thoughts heart-hid to doat upon, — 
And glimpse our lost heaven in a flood of tears. 
A magic ring, through which fond Sorrow reads 
Of strange heart-histories, and conjures up 
A vanisht face, with its sweet spirit-smiles, 
Bahe-wonderings, and little tender ways. 

At birth her hair was dark as it were dipt 

In the death-shadow ; but it rarefied 

In radiance as her head rose nighcr Heaven, 

Till she — white Glory! — luokt from a golden 

midst. 
This is her still face as she lay in death ! 
Spirit-like face ! sot in a silver cloud. 
It comes to us in silent glooms of night ; 
The wee wan face that gradually withdrew 
And darkened into the great cloud of death. 

ye who say, " We have a Child in heaven ; " 
Who have felt that desolate isolation sharp 
Defined in Death's own face ; who have stood be- 
side 
The Silent River, and stretcht out pleading hands 
Fur some sweet Babe upon the other bank, 
Tiiat went forth where no human hand might lead. 
And left the shut house with no light, no sound, 
No answer, when the mourners wail without ! 
What we have known, ye know, and only know. 



THE MOTHER'S IDOL BROKEN. 



181 



She came like April, who with tender grace 
Smiles in Earth's face, and sets upon her breast 
The bud of all her glory yet to come, 
Then bursts in tears, and takes her sorrowful 

leave. 
She brought us Eden just within the space 
Of the dear depths of her large, dream-like eyes, 
And o'er the vista dropt the death-veil dark. 
She only caught three words of human speech : 
One for her Mother, one for me, and one 
She crowed with, for the fields, and open Heaven. 
That last she sighed with a sweet farewell pathos 
A minute ere she left the house of life, 
To come for kisses never any more. 

White Lily ! how she leaned in love to us ! 

And how we feared a hand might reach from 

Heaven 
To pluck our sweetest flower, our loftiest flower 
Of life, that sprang from lowliest root of love ! 
Some tender trouble in her eyes complained 
Of Life's rude stream, as blue Forget-me-not"s 
Look sweet appeal when winds and waters fret. 
We saw, but feared to speak of, her strange beauty. 
As some husht Bird that dares not sing i' the night. 
Lest lurking foe should find its secret place. 
And seize it through the dark. With twin-love's 

strength 
All crowded in the softest nestling-touch. 
We fenced her round — exchanging silent looks. 
We went about the house with listening hearts, 
And eyes that watcht for Danger's coming steps. 
Our spirits felt the Shadow ere it fell. 

Then the Physician left our door ajar 
A moment, and the grim thief Death stole in. 
Some Angel passing o'er life's troubled sea. 
Had seen our jewel shine celestial pure, 
And Death must win it for her bosom pearl 



182 THE mother's idol broken. 

We stood at midnight in the Presence dread. 
At midnight, when Men die. we strove with Death, 
To wrench our jewel from his grasping hand. 
Ere the soul loosed from its last ledge of life, 
Her little face peered round with anxious eyes. 
Then, seeing all the old faces, dropt content. 

The mystery dilated in her look, 

"Which, on the darkening death-ground, faintly 
caught 

The likeness of the Angel shining near. 

Her passing soul flasht back a glimpse of bliss. 

She was a Child no more, but strong and stern 

As a mailed Knight that had bectt grappling 
Death. 

A crown of conquest bound her baby-brow ; 

Uer little hands could take the heirdom large , 

And all her Childhood's vagrant royalty 

Sat staid and calm in some eternal throne. 

Love's kiss is sweet, but Death's doth make im- 
mortal. 

The mornings came, with glory-garland on. 

To deck heaven's azure tent with hangings brave ; 

Birds, brooks, and bees, were singing in the sun, 

Eartii's blithe heart breathing l)loom into her face, 

The flowers all crowding up like Memories 

Of lovelier life in some forgotten world, 

Or dreams of peace and beauty yet to come. 

Tlie soft south-breezes rockt the bal)y-buds 

In fondling arms upon a balmy breast ; 

And all was gay as universal life 

Swam down the stream that glads the City of God. 

But we lay dark wiiere Deatli had struck us down 

With tliat stern blow which niiide us ))leed within, 

And bow while the Inevitable went by. 

And there our Darling lay in coffniod calm ; 
Dressed for the grave in raiment like the snow, 



THE mother's idol BROKEN. 183 

And o'er her flowed the white, eternal peace : 
The breathing miracle into silence passed : 
Never to stretch wee hands, witli her dear smile 
As soft as light-fall on unfolding flowers ; 
Never to wake us crjnug in the night : 
Our little hindering thing for ever gone, 
In tearful quiet now we might toil on. 
All dim the living lustres motion makes ; 
No life-dew in the sweet cups of her eyes ! 
Nought there of our poor "Splendid" but her 

brow. 
A young Immortal came to us disguised. 
And in the joy-dance dropt her mask, and fled. 

The world went lightly by and heeded not 
Our death-white windows blinded to the sun ; 
The hearts that ached within ; the measureless loss ; 
The Idol broken ; our first tryst with Death. 
Life, how strange thy face behind the veil ! 
And stranger yet will thy strange mystery seem, 
When we awake in death and tell our Dream. 
'Tis hard to solve the secret of the Sphinx ! 
We had a little gold Love garnered up, 
To bravely robe our Babe ! the Mother's half 
Was turned to mourning-raiment for her dead : 
Mine bought the first land we called ours — Her 

grave. 
We were as treasure-seekers in the earth. 
When lo, a death's-head on a sudden stares. 

Clad all in spirit-beauty forth she went ; 

Her budding spring of life in tiny leaf; 

Her gracious gold of babe-virginity 

Unminted in the image of our world ; 

Her faint dawn whitened in the perfect day. 

Our early wede away went back to God, 

Bearing her life-scroll folded, without stain, 

And only three words written on it — two 

ur names ! Ah, may they plead for us in Heaven ! 



184 TUE motuer's idol broken. 



. IX. 

Very softly hold the Rose, 
On thy happy breast that IJoavs ! 
Thus from out my heart there sprang a flower of 
tender pride. 

All too -wild my passion burned : 

For the co<jling dews it yearned : 

In my hot hands droopt my gentle flower and died. 

Be thy glory meekly worn : 
Fairest fruit is lowliest borne : 
Mine grew high as Life could climb, and arms 
could reach above. 

, 80 proudly heaved my breast ; 
All the world should see how blest ; 
And the seeing Heavens took my lifted love. 



TiiKRE is her nest where in beauty smiled 

Our Bal)e, as we leaned above ; 
And her j)leading face asked for the tenderost place 

In all our world of love. 
Very silent and empty now ! yet we feel 

It rock ; and a tiny footfall 
Comes over the floor in the thrilling niglit-liush, 

And our hearts leaji up for the call 
Of our puir wee lammie dead and gone ; 
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone. 



THE AIOTHLR'S IDOL BROKEN. 185 

Last night, with hands to cracking claspt 

In the furnace-fire of my heart, 
Sitting, I saw the dead world 

All into spirit-life start 
At the mystic touch of the white Moonlight. 

jNIy spirit arose likewise, 
And wandered away to the Graveyard, 

Where, a jewel in Death's hand, lies 
Our puir wee lammie dead and gone ; 
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone. 

Slowly, slowly rose the dead. 

All in their robes of white ! 
Weirdly, weirdl}^ rose the dead. 

All in the silent night ! 
Like lilies for God, from the dark grave-bed. 

They grew in a glory-rain ; 
And the crowned Darling of Heaven, at the head 

Of all that glorified train. 
Was our puir wee lammie dead and gone ; 
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone. 

In my dream I stood at the death-door dark. 

Alone and tremblingly, 
Till a Shining One came in a crescent bark, 

Moonlike, o'er a purple sea. 
She smiled as to say she knew the way, 

And at some secret sign, 
A memory of the old life stirred, 

And I knew that Angel mine ! 
Our puir wee lammie dead and gone ; 
Our bonnie wee lammie dead and gone. 



xr. 

Within a mile of Edinburgh ToAvn 
We laid our little darling down ; 
Our first seed in God's acre sown ! 



186 TUE mother's idol broken. 

So sweet a place ! Death looks beguiled 
Of half his gloom ; or sure he smiled 
To win our lovely, spirit child. 

God giveth His Beloved sleep 

So calm, within its silence deep, 

As Angel-guards the watch did keep. 

The City looketh solemn and sweet ; 
It bears a gentle brow, to greet 
The mourners mourning at its feet. 

The sea of human life breaks round 

This shore o' the dead, with softened sound : 

AVild-flowers climb each mossy mound 

To place in resting liands their palm, 

And breathe their beauty, bloom, and balm ; 

Folding the dead in fragrant calm. 

A softer shadow Grief might wear ; 
And old Heartache come gatlier there 
The peace that falleth after prayer. 

Poor heart that danced among the vines 
All reeling-ripe with wild love-wines, 
Thou walk'st with Death among the pines ! 

Lorn Mother, at the dark grave-door, 
She kneeloth, pleading o'er and o'er, 
But it is shut for evermore. 

She toileth on, the mournfuU'st thing, 

At the vain task of emptying 

The cistern whence the salt-tears spring. 

Blind ! blind I She feels, but cannot read 
Aright ; then leans as she would feed 
The dear dead lips that never heed. 



THE mother's idol BROKEN. 187 

The spirit of life may leap above, 
But in that grave her prisoned dove 
Lies, cold to th' warm embrace of love, 

And dark, tho' all the world is bright ; 
And lonely, with a City in sight ; 
And desolate in the rainy night. 

Ah, God ! when in the glad life-cup 
The face of death swims darkly up ; 
The crowning flower is sure to droop. 

And so we laid our darling down, 

When Summer's cheek grew ripely brown, 

And still, tho' grief hatli milder grown, 

Unto the Stranger's land we cleave. 

Like some poor Birds that grieve and grieve, 

Round the robbed nest, so loth to leave. 



XII. 

Ah, the sweet Dream, the singing Dream, that sang 
We knew not what, so sweet the melody ! 
Made dim woe glimmer golden while we slept ; 
And when we woke the lulling Dream was gone. 

We let our dear dead down the drowning Dark, 
Sailing the awful sea in our world-bark : 
We who had glowed like Angels in the sun, 
With life so lighted by her loveliness. 

God's messenger of death seems blindly stern : 
And 'tis so hard to leave a little babe 
Within the Grave's cold arms, alone ! alone ! 
While Sorrow chills the nest her sweet life warmed. 



188 THE mother's idol broken. 

So little to the world ! and vrhat a world 
Of ditl'erence in our little world ot" home ! 
This stillness where the sweet Bird cliirpt to us 
This good-night-parting-and-morn-greeting loss. 

And yet perchance the kind dark-Angel drew 
Her in the secret shadow of his cloud, 
Out of our warm and golden air, to hide 
Her from some fearful Fate far-hurrying up. 



XIII. 

To-day, when winds of winter hlow, 
And Nature sits in dream of snow, 
With Ugolino-look of woe : 

Wife from the window came to me, 
Now loaves were fallen she could see 
The little grave thro' shred elm-tree. 

NVith wintriness all life did. ache 

For that dead darling's sainted sake ; 

And lips might kiss, but hearts would quake. 

Ho, ye who pass her narrow house, 

By which the dark Leith seaward flows ; 

O clasp your pretty darlings close ; 

And if some tender hud of light 

Is (lroo})ing, as the snowdro]i wliite, 

"NVitli looks that weird wild heartstrings smite 

Think of our l)ahe will never wake. 
And fold your own till fond hearts ache, 
Sweet souls, for little Marian's sake. 



THE mother's idol brokex. 189 



XIV. 

*' Pretty flowers on Baby's head ; 
Who'll cry flowers when Baby's dead ! " 
Singing hearts oft questioned, 
In the sweetest summer fled. 

Marian, Marian. 

Tearful words ! how lightly said ! 
Mournfully remembered, 
Now the sweet now year hath spread 
Blossom-life on Baby's bed. 

Marian, Marian. 

Tender emerald, white, and red, 
Flowers of her beauty bred : 
Breathing all of her that's dead, 
Cry, " We crown her Baby-head ! " 

Marian, Marian. 

*' Who'll cry flowers when Baby's dead ? " 

Praying looks to heaven are led. 

And it smiles as tho' it said, 

*' Early her sweet fame hither sped." 

Marian, Marian. 

" Saintly hands have wound her thread : 
Faith, look up and firmly tread : 
Poor Bereaved, be comforted ; 
My Flowers garland Bady's head." 

Marian, Marian. 

God's unguessed reply is read : 
Tears that came not, tears that pled 
Crying darkly, here are shed : 
Soft rest you. Darling ! dead 

Marian, Marian. 



190 TDK mother's idol BROKEN. 



XV. 

Our leaves are shaken from the tree, 

And hopes hiid low, 
Tliat after our Spring-nurslings, we 

May long to go. 

The warm love-nest our Dovelcts leave 

With helpless moan, 
As they for us would sit and grieve 

In heaven — alone ! 

The tender Shepherd heckoningly 

Our Laml)8 doth Iiold, 
That we may take our own when lie 

Makes up the fold. 



i 



LADY LAURA. 



LADY LAURA. 



Midsummer Morn her silvery-gray 

Rain-veil uplifteth fold on fold ; 

And, purple-flusht, and topt with gold, 
The white clouds kindle and float away 

O'er violet-shadowed hills that stand 
In cloudy crowns, and soft attire ; 
And, in a fragrancy of fire, 

Midsummer Morn floods all the land. 

The Rainbow with its living arch 

Of glory brightens in the blue ; 

Like Spirit-Bridge Earth rolled up through, 
Unconscious on her midnight march. 

Into quick flames of emerald break 

The woods against the ruddied light, 
A dance of radiance bickers bright 

As laughter o'er a dimpling cheek ; 

In sapphire rain Heaven ripples down : 

The sweet south-winds waft opened wide 
The glory-gates of Summer's tide ; 

A starry sweep of flowers is strown 

Through the green meadows ; white and gold, 
It laughs along the glowing ground : 
Such throng of blessings dance around 

The old World's heart ; lo, these unfold. 
13 



194 LADY LAURA. 

At cmorald palace-portals peer 

Quick eyes of Birds that in the sun 
All singing sit, sing every one ; 

Listens each leafy forest-ear. 

Wee cups of faery-wine brim high, 

By the way-side, on l)rier and bush ; 
As lifted in a holy hush 

By unseen hands for passers by. 

Her ripe cheek on the air, red Eose ! 

She leaneth from her fragrant bower ; 

Like lady from her latticed tower ; 
And by sweet force of beauty blows ! 

Bright-hearted with a golden dream, 
The little daisy lifts its head ; 
Its wee lips glister wet and red ; 

Its smile is as a thankful hymn. 

The wildest weed the wind hath sown, 
The commonest grass, are glorified, 
Even as the Tulip in her pride ; 

The trumpet of her beauty blown. 

All Life lies in a bath of balm, 
Feeling the lavish glory flow ; 
"With nought to do but thrill and grow 

In strength, and joy, and luscious calm. 

Now Love breathes dewier delight, 

In cool green ways, and tender gloom ; 
]5eing hath such a da/zling bloom ; 

Its sun of bliss is over-bright. 

balmy Morn ! tender type ! 

AVhat tearful wooings of the May 
IJave brought about this bridal-day 

Of Earth the rath, with June the ripe. 



LADY LAURA. 195 

But, we must turn where Greed for Toil 

Hath closed and claspt Morn's pictured book ; 
Where Nature hath a Gnome-like look, 

And from her features dies the smile. 



II. 

Pleasantly rings the Chime that calls to the 

Bridal-hall or Kirk ; 
But the Devil might gloatingly pull for the peal 

that wakes the Child to work ! 
" Come, little Children," the Mill-bell rings, and 

drowsily they run, 
Little old Men and Women, and human worms 

who have spun 
The life of Infancy into silk ; and fed, Child, 

Mother, and Wife, 
The factory's smoke of torment, with the fuel of 

human life. 
weird white face, and weary bones, and whether 

they hurry or crawl. 
You know them by the factory-stamp, they wear 

it one and all. 
The Factory-Fiend in a grim hush waits till all are 

in, and he grins 
As he shuts the door on the fair, fair world with- 
out, and hell begins ! 
The least faint living rose of health from the child- 
ish cheek he strips. 
To run the thorn in a Mother's heart : and ever he 

sternly grips 
His sacrifice ; with Life's soiled waters turns his 

wildering wheels ; 
And shouts, till his rank breath thicks the air, 

and the Child's brain Devil-ward reels. 



196 LADY LAURA. 

From cockcrow until starlight, very patiently they 

plod ; ^ 

A sea of human faces turning sadly up to God. W 
wan white winter world that hides no colored 

dreams of Spring ! 
No summer sunshine brightens ; no buds blossom ; 

no birds sing. 
In at the windows Nature looks, and sings, and 

smiles them forth. 
To walk with her, and talk with her, and see the 

summering Earth : 
And drink the spicy air in perfumed pathways 

dim with dew ; 
While the miracle of Morning raises glorified life 

anew. 
But they are shut from the heavenly largess ; they 

must stint and moil, 
Tho' Death stares gliastly in their fiice, and life is 

endless toil. 
Did you mark liow vacantly they eyed this land of 

loveliness. 
The Flower of Sleep into their eyes, your heart 

would ache to press. 
The moving glory of the Heavens, their pomp, and 

pageantry, 
Flame in their shadowed faces, but no soul comes 

up to see. 
They see no Angels lean to them ; they stretch no 

spirit-hand ; 
Melodious Beauty sings to them ; they cannot un- 
derstand. 

Yet here, where the sweet flower of life may hoard 

no precious dew. 
To feed its heart of greenness, keep the glory of 

its hue ; 
Here, where the fingers of "Work and Want keep 

writing silent, slow. 
Their warrant for the grave on many a Mother's 

darhng's brow ; 



LADY LAURA. 197 

Here, where the Fiend doth trample out the soul- 
sparks day by day ; 

Here, where such seed of God is rotting in the 
killing clay ; 

Some Saviour-Seraph walks the waves of sorrow 
and of sin, 

And some poor wrestler doth not sink the wrecking 
gulfs within ; 

And aye she rises with her charge in loving arms 
caressed, 

As morning rises out of night, her love-star on 
her breast. 



III. 

In a grand old Gothic Palace, - 

The Lady Laura dwells : 
It crowns the warm green valleys, 

High as their summer-surge swells. 
There, with her emerald chalice, Spring 

Kneels, offering Beauty's wine ; 
There, in a land of enchantment, sing 

The birds thro' shower and shine. 
'Tis a noble solitude serene. 

Where the sudden glory glows ! 
'Tis a happy nook of nestling green. 

Where that virginal flower blows, — 
Just in the sweetness of the bud, 

Brimming with brightness and balm ; 
The tenderest glimpse of Womanhood 

Golden, and sweet, and calm. 
She is the Lily of the land ; 

Born neither to spin nor toil : 
She can rest her fair cheek on her dainty white hand, 

While the human honey-bees moil. 



198 LADY LAURA. 

tlie world of rich visions that peer in her eyes ! 

Around her what fantasies dance ! 
As she leans in her air of paradise, 

And her bower of dalliance : 
But her earnest life is sorrowfully 

O'ershadowed from above : 
She feels the ache of Life's mystery, 

And she feels the hurt of Love. 
The Lady Laura's soul is sad 

For the suilcring under the sun : 
She looks on the world, and is only glad 

For the duties to be done. 
She might have moved by in the f>ageant grand, 

Sweet slip of a lordly line I 
Nor soiled the glory of her white hand, 

And fairy fingers fine ; 
And swam in this world's wine and oil. 

With those who sink for the next, 
Faint with delight, and plundered Toil 

With no strange thought perplext. 
the burnisht stream would have bravely borne 

Her, dancing down its whirl ; 
And the dark wreck-kingdom have proudly worn 

On its l)osom the pure ((ueen-pearl. 
But Sorrow hath toucht her young, young years, 

AVhen their rose-light was smiling and fair ; 
And lier eyes have wept the sharp, sharp tears. 

That pierce tlirough all mirage of air. 
All, the Poor I with her finer sense she hears 

How they moan in their cloud of care. 
They will tell you down in the valh.'ys 

What tlie Orphan Heiress hath done ; 
How the grand old Gothic Palace 

AVith r^ove's new Avine dotli run. 
She's a light on the cokl hill-tops that divide 

The poor from their neighbor Rank ; 
Tho first bright wave of a sluggish tide. 

That hath overleapt its bank. 



LADY LAURA. 199 

And to Lady Laui-a hj window and door, 

Hearts climb with the roses up, 
Their blessings to breathe, and their pride to pour, 

In many a brimming cup. 
Rebel hindrance she treads queenly down, 

Where it stands in her high Throne's way, 
Factory-Fiend with the fearful frown. 

She will bloom in your desert to-day. 



IV. 



The lady Light hath Daughters seven. 
In wedded calm sit smiling fair 
On their cloud-throne ; and down the air 

They float from arms of clasping Heaven. 

For they their lofty home will leave, 

To winnow, on their golden plumes. 
Through ocean-bowers, and water-glooms 

And wondrous spells of beauty weave. 

To clothe the sea-shells in their trance 

So lone and cold, with colored lights, 
And jewel-flames ; till their dense Night's 

Alive with shapes of radiance. 

On Alpine heights a little Flower 

From its snow-cradle soft doth reach ; 
And with its tiny hands beseech 

The vesture-hem of Eternal Power : 

Then straightway help of Heaven descends. 
And vital influences run 
Down golden ladders of the sun, 

And pleading life wins spirit-friends. 



200 LADY LAURA. 

Thus souls in barrenest solitude 

Oft bring the kindly powers down, 
To lighten on them with a crown, 

Or banquet of immortal food. 

And thus on one poor worker's sight 
The Lady Laura throujrh the mirk 
Dawns, marvelling how there may lurk 

A presence toucht with tender light. 

His life stands still to hear what fate 
Comes with the step of mystery ; 
And husht for some event to be, 

In conscious calm the waters wait. 

She sees a prayer for rest and air 
In every face, but, in his eyes 
Alone, are childish memories , 

And his the only spirit there 

That waves the Seraph- wand of fire, 

To fright the Serpent Hickoring near. 
One jewel in that dark Mine! and clear 

It flashes as she brightens nigher. 

And all beside how dull and grim I 
saintly show of maiden grace ! 
From out a golden mist, her face 

Seems floating, tloating ou to him. 

Daughter of Light ! she seems to swim, 
As on the wings of a mighty love ; 
Sad-smiling th:it blind world above; 

Sunning that liuman forest dim. 

She speaks to him ; she takes his hand ; 

AV'ith such a gracious tenderness ! 

The tears up in his eyes will press ; 
Life's desert in sudden flower doth stand. 



LADY LAURA. 201 

As when the spirit of Winter old 

Passes away in a dream of Spring, 
The quick buds burst, and fluttering 

All into shimmering wings unfold. 

And wave so strong, and thrill so free. 

As they the wakened world would wing 
Along the warm way of the Spring, 

Where they are drawn deliciously : 

So from his life a burst of wings 

Is fluttering leaf-like for the light ; 
And in that Splendor's wake of white, 

They make melodious murmurings. 

At her soft touch ethereal dies 

The old dark, as Morning's spear of light 
Doth gently touch the dying night. 

And from it Day, a white Spirit, doth rise. 

Light, Music, Fragrance, seem to kiss 
And swathe him in a bloom of fire ; 
Make shining beauty his attire, 

And bury his dead past in bliss. 



The Lady Laura took him, in her kind and queenly 
way, 

From out that cruel iron world, to the tender hu- 
man day. 

There all the folded bloom of life like a banner rich 
unfurled. 

And waived luxuriant in the air of a glad and 
glorious world. 



202 LADY Lx\URA. 

She fed his mind, she led his uiind, thro' phases 

strange and sweet ; 
Ah, blessed boon to toil and lay the fruitage at 

her feet ! 
She took his widowed Mother ; bless her full and 

flowing hand ! 
To rest her weary bones from toil, and live upon 

her land. 

Their barren world of poverty with flowers she 

girdled round, 
. Till life that toiled with bleeding feet can walk on 

softer ground. 
My Lady comes ; my Lady goes ; his being doth 

rejoice, 
A breaking sea of rapture ; every wave nplifts a 

voice. 

Like dungeoned foe that seeketh the King's daugh- 
ter walking nigh. 

He blesscth the revealing dark for the beauty 
throned high. 

And in the beating of his heart, and flashing of his 
eye. 

His new life standeth waving glory as she passeth 

by. 

My Lady comes ; my Lady goes ; he can sec her 

day by day, 
And bless his eyes witli lier beauty, and with 

blessings strew her way. 
My Lady comes ; my Lady goes ; she passes from 

his sight. 
As dayliglit dies into the skies, and at her gate 

stands Niirlit. 



LADY LAURA. 203 



VI. 



Ah, little thinks my Lady 

Of the subtle seedling sown ; 
But, fruitful was the silence 

Where its secret life hath grown. 
'Twas nvirst with sweet love-rain ; 

At her eyes it drank rich springs ; 
And 'tis fed on hidden manna 

That her fragrant beauty brings. 

Ah, little thinks my Lady, 

As the days and seasons roll ; 
How she took him by the hand, 

To pass in to his soul. 
There she lies in a light of smiles ; 

And like a soft caress. 
Her voice goes feeling, feeling 

With a kiss of tenderness. 

Love, tho' shut without, will laugh 

All barriers above ; 
And higher as they soar, still towers 

The stature of mighty Love. 
And bud by bud, the climbing seed 

Into a tall tree springs ! 
Ah, little thinks my Lady 

What the Bird in the branches sings ! 



VII. 

She smiled on me, she smiled on me, 

And I walk in a glory now ; 
'Tis writ on my cheek in a rose of pride; 

'Tis read in a light on my brow 



1 



204 LADY LAURA. 

" She smiled on me, she smiled on me, 
And my soul with bliss doth ache; 
So many a clue to happiness, 
1 know not which to take ! 

*• She smiled on me, she smiled on me, 
And the human world goes by — 
In a sound as of Angels talking 
'Neath the palms of Paradise nigh. 

•' She stoopt to kiss tne with her smile, 
Thro' the clouds where I darkly lay; 
As she glided thro' my night, Sweet Moon ! 
High on her heavenly way. 

*' She stoopt to kiss me with her smile, 
And life soared up in flame ! 
But, for my worship, not my kiss, 
The glorious phantom came. 

•« She smiled on me, she smiled on me, 
I think as I sit alone; 
And my heart o'er its tender secret 
Is brooding with love's sweet moan. 

** She smiled on me, she smiled on me. 
And that surging smile of light, 
In a happy silence, thro' my life 
Goes circling out of sight. 

** She smiled on me, and my heart like a Bird 
In dreams of the night doth go 
To make its bride-bed where the little buds red 
Peep warm from the white, w hite snow. 

*' She smiled on me, she smiled on me ; 
Ah me, that in licr smiles, 
My lieart miglit break, in a wide love-wave, 
On her bosom's happy Isles ! " 



LADY LAURA. 205 



VIII 



As earliest flowers, the sweet first-love of Spring, 
Are tenderest in their fragrance — saintliest pure, 
Love's firstlings, budding in'the heart, unfold 
Most precious sweet of all the lusty year ; 
And all his life is with their fragrance filled. 
In shy and shady nooks he steals, to brood 
O'er what his heart for kisses lifteth up. 

With a ripe glow in his warm face the Dawn 
Uplifts the veil of dew-mist from the shape 
Of Beauty sleeping on the lap of Earth : 
So down into his secret soul he peers, 
To see the veiled Beauty thro' its mist. 
And bows to bless her where she lies alight. 
Unconscious of the reddening dawn of love. 

A face, like nestling luxury of flowers ; 

Soft hair, on which Light drops a diadem ; 

Twin eyes that smile, — ah, when in their far 

Heaven 
Shall Love stand up and wave the Victor's palm? — 
A mouth of roses wet with damask wine : 
And all the beauty hid from mortal eyes. 
Like lily -bud in leaves of cool green light. 

His happy eyes brim with voluptuous dew. 

Gathered in the rich air, of secret love. 

Anon his heart goes wandering like a wind 

That reels thro' meads of spice, o'er hills of myrrh. 

Drunk with flower-fragrance, and the wine of love, 

And making music at the lightest touch. 

Till faint with sweet it wearies into rest. 



206 LADY LAURA. 



IX. 



Lady of the forest, 

Is the Silver ]5irk ; 
Shimmering in the sunshine, 

Shivering at the mirk ; 
Rocking in her rapture, 

A dancing Psaltress slim ! 
Her hair a shower of beauty ! 

Iler motion a glory-swim ! 
Or, when dewy twilight 

Pours its chrism of balm, 
And lier tremulous bosom 

Fills with a tender calm. 
'Mid the dance of colors, 

And semitones of green, 
Gleams this daintier Spirit 

That in leafdom is the Queen. 
Of all the trees o' the forest, 

He loves the Silver liirk ; 
Shimmering in the sunshine, 

Shivering at the mirk. 
So like the Lady Laura 

In her purity and grace ; 
Dreaming in its sliadow, 

Often rose her face ! 
And as when a Sunburst 

Goldens the green aisles. 
The woodland water smileth. 

So his heart within him smiles. 



X. 

Just a smile i' the face of Nature; 

Just a mirror of May-morn; 
Is the shining;, comely creature, 

Worshipt by the peasant-born. 



LADY LAURA. 207 

Beauty lias no rarer blossom, 
Budding fain, or flowering fair; 

Nestling to a Mother's bosom. 
If a lover's hand should dare 

• She is graceful as the greenly- 
Waving boughs in summer wind; 

And her beauty calm and queenly 
Wears its royal crown of mind. 

0, were I the prince of plenty; 
0, were she my own wed Wife; 

Love would bring the crowning dainty, 
To the banquet of my life. 

' Might I bear Love's shield above her; 

Might I snood her silken hair; 
How my heart would round her hover 

On the tender wings of care! 
Ah, dear Heaven, all blessings shower 

On her sweet life's balmy bud; 
Till it lift immortal flower, 

In the blooming fields of God." 



XI. 

A DAZZLING wonder in the dark of Dreams, 

His heart-hid Jewel gleams ; 

And for a peerless richness it doth range 

The zones of radiant change. 

Breathing soft hues the glorious thing doth shine, 

With lustres Opaline. 

The shifting Sapphire lovingly beguiles, 

With dewy azure smiles. 

The Ruby now with eye of crimson yearns, 

Or like a blood-drop burns. 

The Amber in transparent hand doth hold 

Imprisoned flame of gold. 



208 LADY LAURA. 

Now twinkles from soft shade the Emerald tender, 

A drop of cool green splendor. 

Or, with love-drooping eye, the Pearl o' the deep 

Melts in a sea of sleep. 

And now, wide ope, it lights the inner night, 

A starry Chrysolite. 

And aye, for a peerless richness it doth range 

The zones of radiant change. 



XII. 

One of the silent Poets of the world who find no 

word 
To utter their dumb soul of love, so, like the shy- 
night-bird. 
They break their hearts in music ; die in sorrow's 

solitude. 
One Autumn eve he sat beneath the Beauty of the 

Wood, 
"Where Birds of Thought so often brought bis love 

ambrosial food ; 
When all the spirits of the flowers stole forth i' the 

hush of night. 
And all the greeny silence slumbered in a dream of 

light. 

The world lay in a purple calm, and tenderness of 

tears ; 
In every pulse of being lived the tenderness of years. 
He had wrestled with his passion, — caught up in 

its wild caress — 
Voluptuous as a Bride of Fire, with arms as pitiless. 
He had wopt his pain in a iicry rain, and a calm 

came o'er his tears, 
As a vision of sweet Peace comes treading down 

War's cruel spears. 



LADY LAURA. 209 

Then in a trembling confidence of love to himself 

he talkt, 
And sang above his whispering heart, that felt 

what Spirit walkt. 

" We cannot lift the wintry pall 

From buried life; nor bring 
Back, with Love's passionate thinking, all 

The glory of the Spring. 
But soft along the old green way 

We feel her breath of gold ; 
Her radiant vesture ripples gay, — 

Bhe comes! and all is told. 

"So in Her absence Memory 

Aye sti'ives, but cannot paint 
The Vision of sweet Majesty; 

The beauty of my Saint. 
She comes! like daAvn in spring her fame! 

JNly winter-world doth melt ; 
The thorns with Roses wave a-flame! 

She smiles! and all is felt." 

Is it a vision I or the pure pale face 
Of Lady Laura, blossoming from the trees? 
Strange fire consumes the rich dew of her eyes I 
Trembles her lip ; her soul, tho' very calm. 
Gleams like a naked sword from its "soft sheath. 
Ah, she has found his secret in its nest? 
And will she crush him with her silent scorn ? 
He dare not know. She speaks ; he scarcely hears ; 
So loud the blood goes singing through his brain. 

" I am no longer mistress at the Hall ; 
False friends usurp my title and my lands. 
And keep them till the Law shall do me right. 
I leave to-morrow morn. I think you have 
The mounting spirit to rise where'er you fall, 
And shall rejoice to mark your fortunes shine." 
14 



210 LADY LAURA. 

She paused ; he raised liis eyes to hers, and saw 
The unutterod somothini!; that couhl not be told. 
Her rustling robo thrilled all his lite, and soft 
Her fragrant footsteps died upon the night. 



xiir. 

Like one caught in the Tempest's arms unseen, 
Basht overboard unheard, and left all night 
With the mad waves, blindfolded l)j the gloom, 
All tiiro' that desolate dark he wrestled lone ; 
Tossing tumultuous in a storm of soul ; 
And lived his life o'er in the agony stern ; 
As on the dro%Yning rushes all the past. 

Again he saw her in the Silk-mill stand 
Complete in beauty, crowned with meekest calm, 
As missioned Angel down to Hell wings when 
Some suiJering spirit's time is up in Heaven. 
He went with her among the Poor, where fell 
Her smile as sunshine on a ripening land ; 
And from the folded flowers of thorn}' life. 
Her presence charmed a kindlier spirit forth. 
He hoarded up their blessings in his heart. 

He saw her in the Spring-dawns gliding down. 
Like Morning on the world, to tend the flowers 
That from her touch sprang thrillino; with delight. 
Darkened into himself, ho watcht, all eye, 
Like Spirit that sees its mortal love go by. 
Itself invisible. 

In languorous noons 
Of summer, when, a Sliape of Iragrant warmth, 
Nature seems glowing thro' her sumptuous robe ; 
Her softened beauty rounding tenderly ; 



LADY LAURA. 2J 1 

And from behind the tapestry of flowers, 
Her pantings take you with ambrosial breath ; 
He in the cool, green shadows would lie down, 
O'er him the leaves a lowe of glimmering gold, 
To kiss where the beloved foot had toucht, 
With lip of crimson fire, and fondling cheek, 
All tingling thro' and thro' with costly life. 

He saw the visible Divinity 

0' the tim.e and place, taking her twilight walk, 

All starrily moving in an air of smiles ; 

The serious sea-blue dreaming in her eyes ; 

Her lofty beauty robed about with Heaven. 

He fed upon her fairness daintiest-hued. 

And drank the wine of wonder as sh^went. 

So tender hour by hour, love grew in his heart ; 

A dew-drop in the flower's cup held toAvard Heaven. 

Ah, happy times, when on the top of life 

He saw her beauty's daily sunrise, heard 

Her voice, breathed holy air made fragrant by her, 

And in her presence cloud-like sunned himself. 

With such sweet silent awe ; while all his heart 

With rich love trembled as 'twould break for bliss ; 

Like shaken dews in jewelled cups of morn ! 

Ah, happy nights, and lustrous darks, in which 
He watcht her casement when the house was mute, 
Where the tall Chestnuts husht her beauty round, 
(Jplifting in their hands a light of flowers ! • 
And Silence took the place in loving arms. 
Therewith its speechless yearning strove his heart, 
O'erflowing till the night was filled with love. 

How often through the winter wind and rain, 
His spirit fluttered to her winged with blessings. 
And he stood clothed and warmed with thoughts 

of her ; 
And through the darkness and the cold, his love 



212 LADY LAURA. 



1 



Glowed like a watch-fire in a wilderness ; 
Or glistened upward in a light of tears ; 
Soul-diamonds of the purest water — tears 
Such as the Angels wear for jewels in Heaven 
Trembling with tenderness, alive with light. 
Ah, happy times that wave their sad farewells, 
To come no more, no more, Nevermore ! 
To him, who, tasting the forbidden tree. 
Now sat at Eden gates, and they were closed. 

Sudden a thought struck new life thro' him as strikes 
Land on the swimmer's feet who gives up lost ! 
He who could die for her, could he not live 
For her, and help her win her rightful throne? 
He sat not down on shore to mourn his wreck ; 
Not his heart to wail when he might Avork. 

That night liath passed ; but from its death-bed rose 

A Star, to sing and sparkle in his soul. 

And light him to some crowned accomplishment. 



XIV. 

MIGHTY mystery London, there be children still, 

who hold 
Iler palaces are silver-rooft, her pavements are of 

gold ; 
And blindly in that dark of jf\ite, they grope for 

the golden prize. 
For somewhere hidden in her heart the charmed 

treasure lies. 
Such glorv burning in the skies, she lifts her crown 

of 'light 
Above the dark, we see not what we trample in the 

nisht. 



LADY LAURA. 



213 



merry world of London ! aching world of 

moan, 
How many a soul hath stooped to thee, and lost its 

starry throne ! 
There Circe brims her sparkling ruby, dancing 

welcome, — laughs 
All scruples down with wicked eye, and the crazed 

lover quaffs, 
Until the fires of Hell have left white ashes on his 

lips; 
And there they pass whose tortured hearts the 

worm that dies not grips. 
The stricken crawl apart to die. There, many a 

bosom heaves 
With merry laughters mournful as the dancing of 

dead leaves. 
There griping Greed rich-heaps the yellow wealth 

of Bank and Shop, 
As Autumn leaves grow goldenest when rotten-ripe 

to drop : 
And many melt the marrow of their Manhood, 

burn its bloom. 
In Passion's serpent arms, and with her kiss of fire 

consume : 
And sideling Vanity seeks a mirror in each passing 

face. 
But through the dark some luminous lives flash up 

and pray Heaven's grace. 

All beauteous stand her Idols shining on their 

azure height. 
And from their fairy heaven lean veiled Shapes, 

half-dim, half-bright ; 
They draw us with a dream delicious to the aching 

sight; 
Armfuls of warm delight, white waists, ripe lips, 

and merry Brides ; 
Life-dew in melting roses, low sweet music, world 
I 



214 LADY LAURA. 

And day by day, on each highway, from many a 

sunny shire, 
The country life comes green to wither for the 

liungry lire. 
All into London leaping, leaping flows the human 

sea, 
Where, a wreck at heart, or a prize in arms, the 

waves flash merrily. 
With a prayer to God on high, he sees the tumult, 

hears the strife. 
And dives, from out the gulfs to snatch a nobler- 
crowned life. 
The Lady Laura leaneth like a bending heaven 

above, 
And his life is safely steadied with the anchor of 

his love. 

Three times into the City's heart there ran the 
news of Spring : 

Sweet primroso-tiuie is come again, and the silver 
showers sing. 

The cloudy imagery of Heaven sails o'er him day 
by day. 

He watches parching as the Palm wlien the rain 
floats far away, 

All thirsty, as the Hero's soul with glory's burn- 
ing drouth ! 

And yearning, as the dying yearn for a death-bed 
in the South ! 

For Spring's warm breath, and bright caress, and 
pleasant feel of leaves, 

And all her beauty wet with morn, his heart with- 
in him grieves. 

The country memories rich inlaid, so fragrantly 
are stirred. 

As spice-winds wliisper something low, or sings a 
careless Bird. 



LADY LAURA. Iil5 

The green-woods beckon spirit-like thro' a dream 
of azure sky ; 

All heaven looks out from a flower as from the 
Beloved's eye, 

And visions of a lovelier-lighted life moving glim- 
mering by. 



Watching the surges of his soul, which, ever and 

anon. 
Revealed the proud wave-wrestler Hope for ever 

battling on ! 
And ever thro' the dark the Lady Laura's star- 
smile shone. 
Ah, the dear night was all his own, then life rose 

starry-towered ; 
Full-honeyed with its folded Spring, his shut heart 

bud-like flowered. 
Upon the stream that pines all day, the calm of 

Heaven doth rest. 
And its Star of love, tho' far above, keeps bridal on 

its breast. 
Pure, pained. Loveliness ! she walks a world of 

wrong and guile. 
Yet nightly looketh in his face with the same 

sweet patient smile. 
While ever and for ever goeth up to God for 

doom. 
The Cit}''s breath of life and death, in glory or in 

gloom ; 
And there it rings each spirit round, of light or 

darkness woven. 
And they shall wake and walk their self-unfolded 

Hell or Heaven. 
Nightly a merry harvest-home the Devil in London 

drives. 
And gathers on the shores of Hell the wreck of hu- 
man lives. 



216 LADY LAURA. 

While God sits over all, in Heaven, and in His 

hand doth hold. 
The Flower of Silence shedding worlds like seed of 

sunny gold. 



XV. • • 

A LONELY life, a lonely lot ; 

He climbs his mountain day by day ; 

But finds beside the stoniest way 
Love's wild rock-honey, and faintetli not. 

He sees the Vision shine afar ; 

Sweet wedded lives in happy home ; 

And strains his eyes against the gloom, 
Like Nuns that throb at prison-bar, 

"Wooed by a dear and dazzling dream, 

When thro' the mirk Love's glory burns. 
The hearth of Home warm welcome yearns ; 

His face is glowing with the gleam 

And sparkle of their brimming cup, 

Who round the home-altar dance and sing. 
All in a golden marriage-ring. 

And light with love Life's picture up. 

They sit in nestling nook, and see 

The ripening promise of the years ; 
The budding (juieks, the sju-inging ears; 

Flowers honey-wet, and fruits to be. 

As bridal-gifts from God above. 

The Children bring their glad new spring , 
Past joy's refrain their voices ring, 

All loud with mirth, or lown with love. 



LADT LAURA. 217 

Fine actions feed Love's holy fire, 

Like sandal- wood of fragrant gold ; 
Till Heavenward, glorious to behold, 

It breaks, in many a splendid spire. 

There, hand in hand, they reach across 
A double range of rich delights ; 
And climb in safety where the heights 

Of Life have many a chasm of Loss. 

A happy soul in song doth gush, 

Ere closes their day-book of bliss. 
So softly clasped with a kiss. 

While eyes with tears of trembling flush. 

" blessed Bird that soars and sings, 
And moves in heaven on triumphing wings ; 

Then drops to rest 

Within my breast, 
And aye some balm of blessing brings. 

" Flower of mine, Life's stream may start 
Thy trembling leaves, but cannot thwart 

Love's calm below, 

"Where wed roots grow 
In twin strength, smiling heart to heart. 

*' crest of beauty on my brow ; 
light of love upon my prow ; 
To the death- dark, 
I row my bark ; 
You gild with glory as we go." 

'Tis merry to walk the deck of life, 

Tho'billows beat, and the wild winds blow ; 

And proudly feel they rest below ; 
That precious freightage, weans and wife. 



:I8 LADY LAURA. 

But, he drifts on, in lonely bark, 

Past shinino; home, and 8inj];ing isle. 
Fine Apparition, -with a smile 

Like spirit-music ! in the dark 

Thy sudden beauty lightens near, 

And ])0WvS him to the knees in prayer. 
He needs long draughts of heavenly air, 

Who dives to clutch a pearl so dear. 



XVI. 

To-DAT, 'mid fjiU of palms the Victor stands ; 
His brows are bound by Lady Laura's liands. 
He conquered. To her feet ho brought the prize; 
Twin worlds of bliss rose throbbing in lier eyes. 
Sparkled her smiling soul like that of a child, 
And, smiling, all her luminous body smiled. 

The lilies, wdiite upon her stream of life, 
Heaved with the sweet feel of its dancing strife. 
She, glowing happy as tlie languorous South, 
When Spring doth kiss her on the flowery mouth. 
From out lier heart's heaven a sweet simple Grace 
Came Idushing all the secret in her face. 
And dyed her oeauty daintier for embrace. 

He lookt into the windows of her eyes. 
To see Love, sitting by the hearth, arise 
And let him in, and lead him to his tlirone, 
For love and worship thro' all worlds his own. 
Her virgin tree at a trembling touch doth move ; 
Into his bosom drops the fruit of love. 



LADY LAURA. 219 

Upon his life now leaneth dewilj 

The rose of her ripe beauty rare to see. 

In honeyed light, and SAveet with pleasant showers, 

Lies all the land, a colored flame of flowers ; 

And with a sidelong grace smiles of the sight ; 

Heaven shakes its bridal torch and laughs delight. 

On her white holy hand the ring of gold 

Exults its branch of glory to enfold. 

Comes forth in greeting all the country side, 

To welcome Lady Laura home, a Bride. 

Ring, merry bells, ring, blithesome bridal bells ! 

To the tune of happy hearts your triumph swells. 



XVII. 

*' My life lay like a Sea-bud, dark upon the watery 

wold, 
That feels when Spring is in the world, and striveth to 

unfold, 
The breath of Love passed o'er me, and the Spring 

went laughing b}^ 
Till on a sudden I was 'ware, Beloved, thou wert 

nigh ! 
The Bird of Love to my window came, and sang a 

strain divine. 
Sweet Bird ! he makes his nest, I said, 'neath other 

eaves than mine : 
But many a day hath come and gone, and still he sits 

and sings 
His song of happy futures, and of dear remembered 

things. 

" My life went darkling like the Earth, nor knew it 

shone a Star 
To that dear Heaven on which it hung in worship from 

afar. 



220 LADY LAURA. 

0, many bared their beauty like brave flowers to the 

bee ; 
She mij^lit have ranged thro' sunny fields, but net-tied 

down by me : 
A King upon liis Throne might have smiled her to his 

side ; 
But, with a lowly majesty she came to me, my Bride, 
And grandly gave her love to me, the dearest thing on 

Earth, 
Like one who gives a jewel, all unweeting of its worth. 

"0, was it an Immortal Child, left by a fair Dream- 
Bride, 

Seen in a world of vision with mine eyes stretcht spirit- 
wide ? 

Or was the Image pictured, by the sun of another life, 

In secret soul, that I might know its living like my 
Wife ? 

I know not ; but, when luminous she floated on to me, 

Methought she flamed from out the mist of some far 
memory. 

The hidden Love just stirring the spring-roses of her 
face ; 

The picture of sweet Saintliness ; the glory and the 
grace. 

" 'Twas when the Earth her green lap spreads for 

Summer's gorgeous gifts ; 
And plump for kisses of the Sun, her ripened cheek 

uplifts ; 
"When maiden May was caught and kist in lusty arms 

of .June ; 
Slie newly strung my liarp of life, and played its sweet- 
est tune. 
(), I had })een content to live in a cottage of the clay, 
So 1 might see and bless her, when she chanced to pass 

that way ; 
But she swam down from her heaven, with a look of 

glorious pride, 
And I clasp my heart's sweet Vision ; lo ! a nestling 

human Bride." 



LADF LAURA. 221 



XVIII. 

Calm is their sheltered shore of life, caressed 
Bj gentle tides of peace, whose murmurs are 
Of storms at rest, and sorrows sanctified. 
But not for them alone the honey-time, 
And bliss of being ! hearts were all too full 
Of lusty longing for all human good. 
And happiness was only meant to share. 
That luminous revealer, hallowing Love, 
Gave them the seeing eye, not drooping lid. 
His chosen are but caught up into Heaven, 
For wider vision of a suffering Earth. 
Their lavish bliss ran over to make rich, 
And kindle with a spring of laughing life 
The poor world kneeling at the feet of theirs. 
And not forgotten was that Factory-world, 
Which like a doomed Ship far away i' the night 
Pleaded — each port-hole lighted up for help ! 
Christ on the Cross for eighteen hundred years, 
And still His Poor their long redemption wait — 
Still tempted of the Devil in the Desert. 
Still are they, crouching by the fireless hearth. 
In the dead winter often driven to burn 
The bravest hangings of their house of life. 
To scare the gaunt wolf Hunger, whose eyes glare 
In at the windoAV lit with bloody lust ! 
Sometimes a cry runs throbbing thro' the night. 
As tho' Creation quickened with the birth 
Of new life strange and monstrous, in our world. 
Then startled Fear from his high lattice looks, 
With face as white as death-toucht Wants below: 
There rage a people like a forest of fire ! 
Grim on the banner Labor's challenge flames, 
" Leave to live working, or die fighting." 

Fear 



222 LADV LAURA. 

Sends forth his Guards, and to his pillow slinks. 

Red Murder leaps up sudden in their midst; 

The <!;athoring of fierce sullering breaks in blood: 

Begins again the old long agony, 

And Order reigns! tho' many a day the Ghost 

Of Revolution at his ban((uet sits. 

And standeth iSentry at his door o' nights. 

O hopeless Poor, and impotently Rich ! 

hurrying host of battling enmities, 

That, fighting, feel no earthquake rock the ground ! 

human world, panting without the pale 

Of harmony, the universal law. 

Like Soul, troublous wail, shut out of bliss! 

Shall it not come, the time of which we dream 

To crown long years of strife, and blood, and tears. 

When from the Book the Poet's thought shall step 

Clothed on with human lineaments, and live? 

And this Ideal of our hopeful Brave 

Come down and dwell with us in daily life, 

And Earth and Heaven lie in each other's arms? 

They deem so, who, with visionary eyes. 

Have held communion with that world to come; 

Our wedded pair : thoir faith made quick by love ; 

They look within — its Shadow comes that way. 

And they will make their outer life a dial. 

On which the inner light may rise and shine ; 

And touch with radiance soft some sullen spot 

AV'here falls the Devil's shadow, till a smile 

Is on its face as it turns up to God. 

Sing Ho for the New World and its golden age 

Of delicate dreamwork, and of rich romance. 

They bouglit the Factory : turned its stream of toil 

To a flood of Joy on Lady Laura's hands. 

There Life, whose dark and stagnant Avaters swarmed 

With hideous things, in merry radiance runs; 

Brightens with health, and 1>reaks in frolic sjiray ; 

Peeps thro' a garland green, and laughs in light; 

Its rest, blessed as the' the calm high heavens 



LADY LAURA. 223 

Had lookt it into a transfiguring trance, 
Then with light-hearted morrow sparkling on — 
So to the dark arch Death, thro' which the stream 
AVill bicker or darken for the shoreless sea. 

They built their little world, wherein the Poor 
Might grow the flower of Hope, and fruit of Love ; 
And human trees, with outstretcht'arms of cheer, 
Might mingle music, wreathe in bud and bloom, 
And in their branches nest the birds of God, 
That in immortal beauty whitely hover, 
But come not down to build while boughs are 
bare. 

They bought and sold, they ploughed, and sowed, 

and reapt. 
Cheapness, Free Trade, and such Economy 
As suck their strength from human blood and tears ; 
Feeding on beauty's waste, and Childhood's spring ; 
Shredding with wintry hand life's leafy prime ; 
They bowed not down to — Baal of the strife 
That gives the Devil his own vantage-ground. 
Where each man's hand is at his brother's throat ; 
The knight in golden mail combats the naked ! 
And hearts must run with never-tiring wheels ! 
The weak go down ; the Victors merciless 
Still wield the Sword of Selfish interest, 
To win their crown of Individual gain. 
And throne of Isolation cool and lone. 

Not this, but life of freedom, law of love ; 
The wine-press trod by each, the cup for all ; 
In this serener world — this morning star 
That rises out of chaos and the night, 
Like throbbing heart of some Millennial Day. 
Here, life is no soul-vsickening round of toil ; 
No need to blink the Spirit's longing sight. 
Here, simple childhood opens vernal eyes. 
And young blood dances though the veins of Age. 



224 LADY LAURA. 

While Cottage homes rise from the sea of green, 
Like clouds where happy spirits sit and sing, ^ 

The old wild-brier, Labor, from which spring 
The radiant Hoses of a warmer world, 
"With kindlier nurture blossoms forth anew, 
A glory of Flowers, and wears immortal green ; 
Breaks the stern granite, sparkling into beauty. 
And precious jewels glow from common stones : 
Soft white hands smooth the brow of wrinkled 

Wrath ; 
The gentle balm of Love makes hard eyes soft. 
And melted liearts to swim thro' woe-worn looks, 
AVith sweet and delicate human tenderness. 
The trampled battle-tield of sin-scarred faces 
Is healed with the harvest of ripe love ; 
Its frowning furrows crowned with ridged smiles. 

Over tlieir World where Passion hurtled down 
Burning instead of l)eauty, as its sun. 
And all around was black eternal night ; 
Love's radiant shadow sheds an atmosphere 
Of soft celestial briglitui'ss, calm, and peace. 
And Life goes hand in hand with hap])y things; 
In lovely shadow-lands with s})irits talks; 
There with all gracious Sluipes of Beauty walks, 
And wins their motion, majesty, and mien ; 
And rears his temple rich for God, inlaid 
AVith precious jewels, and colors fair, and cries, 
" Behold how good and joyful a thing it is 
To dwell together in peace and unity." 

Thus Lady Laura and her peasant lord 
Built o'er the dead past their proud monument. 
That signals to far times their message of love : 
And God was with them smiling on their work. 
They wrought not without hindrance, sorrow and 

pain : 
Who work for Freedom win not in an hour : 



LADY LAURA. 225 

Their cost of conquest never can be summed ! 

Thej toil and toil thro' many a bitter day, 

And dark, when false friends flee, and true ones 

faint. 
The seed of that great truth from which shall spring 
The forest of the future, and give shade 
To the reapers of the harvest, must be watcht 
With faith that fails not, fed with rain of tears, 
And walled around with life that, fighting, fell. 



15 



GLIxMPSES OF THE WAR. 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 



Like peering Children down some distant lane, 
What time with pealing pomp and pageant shows 
The Battle in its bravery blazons by, 
We peered into the passing world of War — 
Its crowning Heaven pulst with starry hopes — 
Its crowded Hell of red and writhing pain ; 
With hearts that ached or burned, as kindled cheeks 
Flamed up in reddening shame or bloom of pride, 
And told the story as the pictures rose. 
How England swooned beneath the kiss of Peace, 
And languisht in her long voluptuous dream, 
While weed-like creatures crept along her path. 
Where leapt of old proud waves of glorious life, 
The sluggish channels choked with golden sand. 
The hills of light rose shining far away. 
Where she should stand and touch the hem of 

Heaven ; 
But, day by day she darkened deeper down. 
The cold, grim shadow stretcht o'er half the earth. 
Came freezing round her watchfire's dying flame. 
While spirit-finger-pointings signalled her. 
And spirit-rustlings surged the air in vain. 

A tearless anguish flamed from Poland's eyes 
When the red Deluge closed above her head : 
Sodden with suffering and unwept tears, 



230 GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 

The heart of Hungary pled in silence stern : 
Poor Italy lay in her guarded grave, 
Her life all crouching in one listening sense, 
To catch aught stirring in the upper world : 
Out of the North the brute Colossus strode, 
"With grimly solemn pace, proud in the might 
That moves not but to crush, and terribly towered 
Its growing shape thro' Battle's bloody gap 
Where Nations fell ; and like a Cyclops' eye 
Its one idea lit it to the prey : 
While pale Expediency paltered for 
Our peaceful cliance of being eaten last. 

And England slumbered in the lap of Peace, 
Beneatli her grand old Oak which, hale and strong, 
Rode down the storm, and wrestled with the winds, 
To rise in pomp of bloom, and p;\3an of song. 
Green with the sap of many hundred springs ; 
And tossed its giant arms in ^^anton life. 
Like Victory smiling in the sun of Glory. 
She saw not how the worms cat out its heart. 
Life deftl}^ masks the hiding-place of death ; 
And Ruin leads liis Bride in a garland green 
For sacrifice. So England slept in peace. 
x\nd in the glamour of her dream she saw 
Brave fimcies foot it holding Freedom's pall, 
Waving their funeral links for bridal lights. 

Came Nemesis, her lightnings stabbed the dark. 

To show the way, and startled England woke ! 

Behold the glorious creature leaping from 

Delilah's lap, to the battle-chariot. 

Like sternness stript for strife. Grim-wooing War 

Mirrors his terrible beauty in lier face ; 

Her heart is dancing to a loftier tune, 

On fire to l)ring the death-strokes hand to hand, 

Tlie brightness of her look consumes the cloud. 

Ah, God hath called His Chosen once again. 

And the Old Guard of Freedom takes the field. 



GLIMPSES or THE WAR. 231 

Rejoicing in the glory of her strength, 

Like some proud cataract she shouts for the strife^. 

And hurls her hurrying waves of valor down. 

The glorious shudder of intrepid blood 

Hurtles thro' all her veins, and Victory's voice 

Cries from the inmost oracle of her soul. 

Her swift avenging armaments shall flame 

O'er land and sea, sublime as when of old 

With a colossal calm she rode the waves 

Of war, that heaved magnificent in storm. 

The noble prophecy of ripened age 

Was on her youthful brow ; fulfilment comes. 

She lifts the Ark of Freedom in her arms, 

Safe thro' the deluge of a warrino; v^-orld. 



II. 

For Freedom's battle march auld Scotland's brave, 
And Edinburgh streats are piled with life to-day. 
High on her crags the royal City sits. 
And sees the files of war far-winding out. 
And with the gracious golden Morning smiles 
Her proudest blessing down. Old Arthur's Seat 
Flings up his cap of cloud for brave success ; 
The Pentlands lift their veil and lean to see ; 
But the old Castle standeth staidly stern, 
As some scarred Chief who sends his boys to battle : 
While the Sea flashes in the sun, our Shield, 
So rich in record of heroic names ! 

The gay Hussars come riding thro' the town, 
A light of triumph sparkling in their eyes ; 
The Music goeth shouting in their praise, 
Like a loud people round the Victor's car ; 
And Highland plumes together nod as though 
There went the Funeral Hearse of a Russian Host : 
The bickering bayonets flutter wings of fire, 
And gaily sounds the March o' the Cameron Men. 



232 GLIMPSES OF TUE WAR. 

The War-steeds sweeping — men to battle going — 
Singino; the freeman's songs of fatherland — 
The banners with old battle-memories stirred — 
Tlie wave of Beauty's hand — meed of her eyes — 
The thrilling Pibroch, and the wild war-drum, 
The stern sword-music of our grand Hurrah, 
And answering cheer for death or victory — 
All make me tingle with a triumph of life, 
And I could weep that I am left behind, 
To see the tide ebb where I may not follow. 
And there they march a-field, those gallant men ; 
To win proud death, or larger life, they leave 
Home's rosy circle ringed with blessings rich. 
For the far darkness, and tlie battle-cloud. 
Where many have fall'n, and many yet must fall. 
In spurring their great hearts up to the leap, 
For such brave dashes at unconquered heights. 
The shadow of solen^n sorrow falls behind, 
Where sobbing Sweethearts lo(jk their loving last. 
And weeping Waives hold up tlie little ones. 
The sun sets in their faces, life grows gray. 
And sighs of desolation sweep its desert. 
The winter of the heart aches in the eyes 
Of Mothers who have given their all, their all. 

And yet methinks the Heroic Time returns, 
Such look of triumpli lit the meanest face 
To-day : there seemed no heart so earthy but 
Had some blind gropings after nobler life, 
"VV^ith hands that reacht toward God's Gate Beau- 
tiful. 
Our England bright'ning thro' the battle-smoke. 
Had toucht them with her glory's lovelier light. 
And though their darlings fall, and tho' they die 
In this death-grapplo in the night with Wrong ; 
The memory of their proud deeds cannot die. 
They may go down to dust in bloody shrouds, 
And sleep in nameless tombs. But for all time. 
Foundlings of Fame are our beloved Lost. 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR, 233 

For me, this day of glorious life shall be 

One of the starry brides of Memory, 

Whose glittering faces light the night of soul. 



III. 

Twine a garland for the grave 
Of our Beautiful ! our Brave ! 
And their names in glory grave 

Who have died for us. 
High the battle-banner wave ! 
They have perisht but to save, 
They have leapt a Curtian grave 

In their pride for us. 



IV. 

Our old War-banners on the wind 

Were dancing merrily o'er them ; 
Our half world husht with hope behind - 

The sullen Foe before them ! 
They trode their march of battle, bold 

As death-devoted freemen ; 
Like those Three Hundred Greeks of old, 

Or Rome's immortal Three Men. 
Ah, Victory ! joyful Victory ! 

Like Love, thou bringest sorrow ; 
But, ! for such an hour with thee, 

Who could not die to-morrow ? 

With towering heart and lightsome feet 
They went to their high places ; 

The liery valor at white heat 
Was flashing in their faces ! 



234 GLIMPSES OF TUE WAR. 

Magnificent in battle-robe, 

And radiant, as from star-lands, 
Tliat spirit sliuno M-hicli girds our globe 

AVith glor^-, as with garlands ! 
Ah, Victory ! joyful Victory ! 

Like Love, thou In'iugcst sorrow ; 
But, ! for such an hour with thee, 

AVho could not die to-morrow? 

Thc}^ saw the Angel Iris o'er 

Their deluge of grim fire ; 
xVnd with their life's last tide they bore 

The Ark of Freedom higher! 
And grander 'tis i' the dash of death 

To ride on Battle's billows. 
When Victory's kisses take the breath, 

Than sink on balmiest pillows ! 
Ah, Victory ! joyful Victory ! 

Like Love, thou bringest sorrow ; 
But, ! i'or such an hour with thee, 

Who could not die to-morrow ? 

Brave Hearts, with noble feeling flusht, 

In ripe and ruddy riot 
But Yesterday ! how are ye husht 

Beneath the smile of Quiet ! 
For us they pour"d their Blood like wine. 

From life's ripe-gather'd clusters ; 
And far thro' History's night shall shiue 

Their deeds with starry lustres. 
Ah, Victory ! joyful Mctory ! 

Like Love, thou bringest sorrow ; 
But, ! for such an hour with thee, 

Who could not die to-morrow? 

We laid them not in Churchyard home. 
Beneath our darling daisies : 

But to their rude mounds Love will come. 
And sit, and sing their praises. 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 235 

And soothly sweet shall be their rest 

Where Victory's hands have crown'd them ; 
To Earth our Mother's bosom prest, 

And Heaven's arms around them. 
Ah, Victory ! joyful Victory ! 

Like Love, thou bringest sorrow ; 
But, ! for such an hour with thee, 

AVho could not die to-morrow ? 

Yes, there they lie 'neath Alma's sod, 

On pillows dark and gory, — 
As brave a host as ever trod 

Old England's fields of glory. 
With head to home and face to sky. 

And feet the Tyrant spurning. 
So grand they lo(^k, so proud they lie, 

We weep for glorious yearning. 
Ah, Victory ! joyful Victory ! 

Like Love, thou bringest sorrow ; 
But, ! for such an hour with thee. 

Who could not die to-morrow? 

They in Life's outer circle sleep, 

As each in death stood Sentry ! 
And with our England's Dead still keep 

Their watch for kin and country. 
Up Alma, in their red footfalls. 

Comes Freedom's dawn victorious ; 
Such graves are courts to festal halls ! 

They banquet with the Glorious. 
Ah, Victory I joyful Victory ! 

Like Love, thou bringest sorrow ; 
But, ! for such an hour with thee. 

Who could not die to-morrow? 

Our Chiefs who matcht the men of yore. 
And bore our shield's great burden, — 

The nameless Heroes of the Poor, — 
They all shall have their guerdon. 



236 GLIMPSES OF TUE WAR. 

In silent eloquence, each life 

The Earth holds up to heaven ; 
And Britain gives for Child and Wife, 

As those dear hearts have given. 
Ah, Victory ! joyful Victory ! 

Like Love, thou bringest sorrow ; 
But, ! for such an hour with thee, 

AVho could not die to-morrow? 

The spirits of our fathers still 

Stand up in battle by us ; 
And in our need, on Alma hill. 

The Lord of Hosts was nigh us. 
Let Joy or Sorrow brim our cup, 

'Tis an exultant story, 
How England's Chosen Ones went up 

Red Alma's hill to glory. 
Ah, Victory ! joyful Victory ! 

Like Love, thou bringest sorrow ; 
But, ! for such an hour with thee. 

Who could not die to-morrow ? 



Twine a garland for the grave 
Of our Beautiful ! our Brave ! 
And their names in glory grave 

Who have died for us. 
High the battle-banner wave ! 
They have perisht but to save. 
They have leapt a Curtian grave 

In tlicir pride for us. 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 237 



VI. 



How they conquer, gallant guarders, with the red 

wet sword in hand ! 
How thy life, at their brave ardors, crimsons high 

with health. Old Land ! 
How they run the race of glory ! how they light 

these darkened years ! 
In our land's heroic story, 'tis the proudest tale of 

tears. 

In the Alma's vineyards ruddy, did they toil for 

our increase ; 
In the fields of battle bloody, they shall plant our 

palms of Peace. 
They may rest by Alma river ; they may die in 

deserts drear : 
But for ever, and for ever, shall our country hold 

them dear. 

With her smile the Angel Duty lit their brows as 

with a crown ; 
And for love of her dear beauty they to death go 

grandly down. 
Eyes may weep the unreturning ; hearts will break 

with Mother and Bride : 
But, on Britain's front no mourning glooms for 

those who thus have died. 



VII. 

Twine a garland for the grave 

Of our Beautiful ! our Brave ! 

And their names in glory grave 

Who have died for us. 



238 GLIMPSES OF THE AVAR. 

High tlic battlo-bannor wave ! 
They have pcrisht bat to save, 
They have leapt a Curtian gravo 
In their pride for us. 



VIII. 

Sft proud in your saddles ! grip tighter each blade ! 
AVe ride, ho, wo ride a magiiiHcjut raid I 
To-day win a glory that never shall fade. 
Old England for ever ! Hurrah ! 

the liglitning of life ! the thunder of steeds ! 
Great thoughts burn within us like liory seeds, 
Swift to flame out a red fruitage of deeds. 
Old England for ever ! Hurrah I 

the wild joy of Warriors going to die, 

All Sword, and all Flame, with our brows lifted 

high ! 
Ride on, happ}'- band, for the glory swims nigh. 
Old England for ever ! Hurrah ! 

Chariots of fire in the dark of death stand ; 
Down thro' the Ijattle-cloud reaches a Hand 
To crown all who die for their own dear land. 
Old England for ever ! Hurrah ! 

The Sea of Flame wraps us now ! take one long 

breath. 
And plunge for the prize of Immortals, beneath. 
Shout to the cannonade, shouting to Deatii : 
Old England for ever ! Hurrah ! 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 239 

Spring to now I dash thro' now! and cleave crest 

and crown ! 
For each foe round you strown now, a wreath of 

renown ! 
In a red rain of Sabres ride down, dash them down. 
Old England for ever ! Hurrah ! 

Charge back ! once again we must ride the death- 
ride, 

You Victor-few smiling in terrible pride ! 

Charge home I smoking hell of horse, grim, glori- 
fied ! 

Old England for ever ! Hurrah ! 

Now cheer for the living ! now cheer for the dead ! 
Now cheer for the deed on that hill-side red ! 
The glorj is gathered for England's head. 
Old England for ever ! Hurrah ! 



IX. 

I Ah, weep not for the Heroes whom we never more 
' shall see ; 

I Ah, weep we were not with them in their ruddy 
{ revelry ! 

God of Battles ! but 'twere glorious to have mount- 
ed Victory's Car, 
When the Chivalry of Europe smote the squadrons 
of the Czar ! 

'Tis brave, while banners wave, to be where Free- 
dom's Champions are, 

And burst upon the Enemy like Gods from clouds 
of war ! 

Our Old Land beauteous leans above her darlings 
as they die, 
I And, bosom'd in her arms of love, her slain ones 
richly lie. 



240 GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 

We blessed them for the Battle, who hut mareht 

to the Bier ; 
Some were riper for the Bridal — some were 

Fathers gray and sere ; 
With a kiss for Ciiild and Wife, some went out in 

War's red wrack ; 
And to the land that gives us life. Who'd grudge 

to give it back ? 

I had a gallant Brother, loved at home, and dear to 

me — 
I have a mourning Mother, winsome Wife, and 

Children three — 
He lies with Balaklava's dead. But let the Old 

Land call, 
And we'd give our living remnant, and we'd follow 

one and all ! 

We speak a few weak words ; but the great hearts 

gone to God, 
Thej have fought with their Swords — won our 

battles red wet-shod ! 
While we sat at home, brave laurels for our Land 

they went to win ; 
And with smiles Valhalla lightens as our Heroes 

enter in. 

They bore our Banner fearless to the death, as to 

the fight, 
They lifted England peerless to the old heroic 

height. 
We weep not for the Heroes whom we never more 

shall see, — 
We weep we were not with them in their ruddy 

revelry. 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 241 



Twine a garland for the grave 
Of our Beautiful ! our Brave ! 
And their names in glory grave 

Who have died for us. 
High the battle-banner wave ! 
They have perisht but to save, 
They have leapt a Curtian grave 

In their pride for us. 



XI. 

"You brave, you bonny Nightingale, 

You are no summer Bird ; 
Your music sheathes an Army's wail 

That pierces like a Sword. 
All night she sings, brave Nightingale, 

With her breast against the thorn ; 
Her saintly patience doth not fail, 

She keepeth watch till morn. 

"Ah, sing, you bonniest Bird of God, 

The night is sad and long ; 
To dying ears — to broken hearts — 

You sing an Angel's song ! 
She sings, she sings, brave Nightingale, 

And weary warrior souls 
Are caught up into Slumber's heaven, 

And lapped in Love's warm folds. 

" sing, sing ! brave Nightingale, 
And at your magic note 
Upon Life's sea victoriously 
The sinking soul will float. 
16 



242 GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 

sing, sing ! brave Nightingale, 

And lure tliem back again, 
Whose path is lost and spirit crost. 

In dark -wild woods of Pain. 

" She sings, she sings, brave Nightingale, 

She breathes a gracious balm ; 
Her presence breaks the waves of war, 

She smiles them into calm. 
She sings, she sings, brave Nightingale, 

Of auld Lang-sjne and Home ; 
And life grows light, the worhl grows bright, 

And blood runs rich with bloom. 

" Day unto day her dainty hands 

Make Life's soiled temples clean, 
And there's a wake of glory where 

Her spirit pure hath been. 
At midnight, thro' that shadow-land, 

Her living face doth gleam : 
The dying kiss her shadow, and 

The Dead smile in their dream. 

" Brave Bird of Love, in Life's sweet May, 

She rose up from the feast, 
To shine above our Banner, 

Like God's Angel in the East. 
Brave Bird of Life, wave healing wings 

O'er that gray Land o' the Dead; 
God's Heaven lie round you like a shield, 

Earth's blessings on your head." 



The Rose did lift her veil, and 1)lush 
At her bower-door like a Bride ; 

The shy brown birds came back with Spring, 
In our merry green woods to hide. 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 243 

But there she sang, our Nightingale ! 

Till War's stern heart grew mild ; 
And, nestling in the arms of Peace, 

He slumbered like a Child. 



XII. 

'TwAS Midnight ere our Guns' grim laugh at their 

wild work did cease. 
And at the smouldering fires of War we lit the 

pipe of peace. 
At Four, a burst of Bells went up thro' Night's 

Cathedral dark. 
It seemed so like our Sabbath-chimes, we could but 

lie, and hark ! 
So like the Bells that call to prayer in the dear 

land far away ; 
Their music floated on the air, and kist us — to 

betray. 
Our camp lay on the shadowy hill, all silent as a 

cloud. 
Its very heart of life stood still — and the white 

Mist brought its shroud ; 
For Death was walking in the dark, and grimly 

smiled to see 
How all was ranged and ready for his sumptuous 

jubilee. 

wily are the Russians, and they came to their 

wild work — 
Their feet all shod for silence in the best blood of 

the Turk ! 
While in its banks our fiery tide of War serenely 

slept, 
Their subtle serpen try unrolled, and stealthily 

they crept ! 



244 GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 

In the Ruins of the Valley do the Birds of Car- 
nage stir? 

A rustle in the o;loom like wheels I feet trample — 
bullets wliir — 

Blessed God ! the Foe is on us. Now the Bugles 
witli a start 

Thrill — like the cry of a wronged Queen — to 
the red roots of the heart ; 

And long and loud the wild war-drums with throb- 
bing triumph roll, — 

A sound to set the blood on fire, and warm the 
shivering soul. 

The war-worn and the weary leapt up ready, fresh, 

and true ! 
No weak blood curdled white i' the face, no valor 

turned to dew ; 
Majestic as a God defied, arose our English Host — 
All for the peak of Peril rusht — each for the 

fieriest post ! 
Thro' the mist, and thro' the mud, and o'er the 

hill-brow scowling grim, 
As is the frown of jNlurder when he dreams his 

dreadful dream. 
On Bayonets and Swords the smile of conscious vic- 
tory shone, 
And down to death we dasht the Rebels plucking 

at our Throne. 
On, on they came with face of flame, and storm of 

shot and shell — 
Up ! Up ! like heaven-sealers, as we sent them back 

to Hell. 

As Bridegroom leaves his wedded Bride in gentle 

slumbers sealed, 
Our England sluml^ored in the West, when her 

VVarriors went a-ficld. 
We thought of her, and swore that day to strike 

immortal blows, 
As all along our leaguered line the roar of battle rose. 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 245 

Iler Banners waved like blessing hands, and we 
knew it was the hour 

For a glorious grip till fingers met in the throat of 
Russian power. 

And at a bound, and with a sound that madly 
cried to kill. 

The Lion of Old England leapt like lightning from 
the hill. 

And there he stood superb, thro' all that Sabbath 
of the Sword, 

And there he slew, with a terrible scorn, his hun- 
ters, horde on horde. 

All Hell seemed bursting on us, as the yelling 
Demons came — 

The Cannon's tongues of quick red fire lickt all the 
hills a-flame ! 

Mad whistling shell, wild sneering shot, with dev- 
ilish glee went past. 

Like fiendish feet and laughter hurrying down the 
battle-blast. 

And thro' the air, and round the hills, there ran a 
wrack sublime, 

As tho' the Eternal's Ark were crashing on the 
shores of Time. 

No Sun ! but none is needed, — Men can feel their 
way to fight. 

The lust of Battle in their face — eyes filled with 
fiery light ; 

And long ere dawn was red in Heaven, upon the 
dark earth lay 

The prophesying morning-red of a great and glo- 
rious day. 

Like the old Sea, white-lipped with rage, they 

dash, and foam despair 
On ranks of rock, and what a prize for the Wrecker 

Death was there ! 



2-1:6 GLIMPSES OF TUE WAR. 

But as "'twere River Ploasaunce, did our fellows 

take that tlood, 
With a ro^^al tlirobhing in the pulse that beat vo- 
luptuous blood : 
The Guards went down to the fight in grey, but 

now they're gory red — 
Christ save them, tliey're surrounded ! Leap your 

ramparts of the dead, 
And back the desperate battle, for there is but one 

short stride 
Between the Russ and victory I One more tug, you 

true and tried ! 
Glory to God ! They are here ! with bloody spur 

Ride, Bosquet, ride ! 
Down like a flood from Etna foams their valor's 

burning tide. 

Now, God for Merrie England, cry ! Hurrah for 

France the Grand, 
And charge the foe together, all abreast, and hand 

to hand ! 
He but caught a shadowy glimpse across the smoke 

of Alma's fray 
Of the Destroying Angel that shall smite his 

strength to-day. 
We shout and charge together, and again, again, 

again. 
Our plunging battle tears its patli, and paves it 

with the slain. 
Hurrah ! the mighty host doth melt before our 

fervent heat ; 
Against our side its breaking heart dotli faint and 

fainter beat. 
And but 'tis a gallant show, and a merry march, 

as thus 
"VVo sound into the glorious goal with shouts victo- 
rious I 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 247 

From morn till night, we fought our fight, and at 

the set of sun 
Stood Conquerors on Inkermann — our Soldiers' 

Battle won. 
That morn their legions stood like corn in its pomp 

of golden grain ! 
That night the ruddy sheaves were reapt upon the 

misty plain ! 
For we cut them down by thunder-strokes, and 

piled the shocks of slain : 
Tlie hill-side like a vintage ran, and reel'd Death's 

harvest- wain. 
We had hungry hundreds gone to sup in Paradise 

that night, 
And robes of Immortality our ragged Braves be- 

dight ! 
They fell in Boyhood's comely bloom, and Bra- 
very's lusty pride ; 
But they made their bed o' the Russian dead, ere 

they lay down and died. 

We gathered round the tent-fire in the evening cold 

and gray, 
And thought of those who rankt with us in Battle's 

rich array. 
Our Comrades of the morn who came no more from 

that fell fray ! 
The salt tears wrung out in the gloom of green 

dells far away — 
The eyes of lurking Death that in Life's crimson 

bubbles play — 
The stern white faces of the Dead that on the dark 

ground lay 
Like Statues of old Heroes, cut in precious human 

clay — 
Some with a smile as life had stopt to music 

proudly gay — 



248 GLIMPSES. OF THE WAR. 

The household Gods of many a heart all dark and 

dumb to-day ! 
And hard hot eyes grew ripe for tears, and hearts 

sank down to pray. 

From alien lands, and dungeon-grates, how eyes 

will strain to mark 
This waving Sword of Freedom burn and beckon 

thro' the dark ! 
The Martyrs stir in bloody graves, the rusted 

armor rings 
Adown the long aisles of the dead, where lie the 

warrior Kings. 
To the mighty Mother England came the radiant 

Victory 
With Laurels red, and a bitter cup like Christ's 

last agony. 
She took the cup, she drank it up, she raised her 

laurelled brow : 
Her sorrow seemed like solemn joy, she lookt so 

noble now. 
The dim divine of distance died — the purpled Past 

grew wan, 
As came this crowning Glory o'er the heights of 

Inkermann. 



XIII. 

Czar Nicholas called to North and South, 

" Come, see the world's great show ! 
I'll thrust my head in the Lion's mouth," 

And he laught, '* Ha ! Ila ! Ho ! Ho !*' 
*' I am the Lion-Tamer dread — 

I make the old brute quail ! " 
The Lion he shook his incredulous head, 

And wagged his dubious tail. 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 249 

the Lion lay down in the pride of his might ; 

'Twas a brave, magnanimous beast ! 
the Lion leapt up to his shaggiest height ; 

The lord of a bloody feast ! 
Now hold, now hold, thou desperate man, 

Or thy braggart cheek may pale ; 
Lo ! Terror tow'rs mighty in his mane. 

And Vengeance tugs at his tail. 

Like a statue of Satan, Nick, alas ! stood. 

And he chuckled a low lying laugh : 
" The world is my Knoutship's whipping-top : 

Hot blood for wine I quaff ! ' ' 
He called to North, he called to South, 

" Come, see the old brute quail : 
I'll thrust my head in his mumbling mouth : " 

The Lion he wagged his tail. 

He thrust his head in the Lion's mouth : 

Ho ! Ho ! but the sport was rare ! 
The Lion smelt blood in the giant's breath. 

And his clencht teeth held him there. 
Then he cried, from between the gates of death, 

With the voice of a Spirit in bale, 
" Now God-a-mercy on my soul ! 

Does the Lion wag his tail ? " 

Then each one strove to say him Yea, 

But each one held his breath ; 
For the iires of hell lit the Lion's eyes, 

And his looks communed with Death ! 
The Giant's heart melts like snow in his mouth, 

His voice is a woman's wail ; 
The Avenger knocks at the door of his life. 

In that lash of the Lion's tail. 

A low, dread sound, as from underground, 
Now signals the realms of the dead ; 

And the Tamer lies tamed on the earth full-length 
That is, except — a head. 



250 GLIMPSES OF TUE WAR. 

And the poor old beast, at whose aspect mild 

The meanest thing dared rail, 
Shakes his mane like a Conqueror's bloody plumes, 

And — quietly wags his tail. 



XIV. 

" Around us the night closes dense as a wood, 
The Stars down the darkness like eerie eyes brood ; 
While out through the nightfall my fearless 

thoughts flee 
To him who is fighting far over the sea. 

"Across the mirk moorland the birds of night 

cry ; 
A wind stirs my flesh as of Ghosts gliding by ; 
Oh, clasp thy hands, pretty one, kneel down with 

me. 
And pray for thy father far over the sea. 

" Oh, brave is my Donald, and gallant and gay 
He'll flash through the fight in the wild, bloody 

day ; 
He'll crest the high waves upon Valor's red sea ; 
God shield him! God scud him back safely to 

me!" 



He's lying, poor Wife ! with the valiant and tried, 
Who to-night poured their life on a ruddy hill- 
side : 
And still she clings tenderly, " Over the sea, 
Blow, breezes, and bring back my darling to me." 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 251 

Her soul it sat smiling, all meek as a dove, 
In her pure perfect face that was lighted with love ; 
Her child to the full heart endearing she drew, 
And bowed like a Flower 'neath its blessing: of dew 



Some luminous Beauty glides over the place, 

A white mist of glory ! a white spirit-face ! 

And a starry shape comes slow and sweet from the 

gloom ; 
God help thee, poor Widow ! thy Husband is home ! 

She knows not the Presence that hovereth nigh. 
Nor whence fell the slumber that healed her heart's- 

cry; 
But she weeps in her vision, and prayerfully 
Still murmurs, " God send him back safely to me ! " 



XV. 

Wild is the wintry weather ! 

Dark is the night, and cold ! 
All closely we crowd together, 

Within the family fold. 
A mute and mighty Shadow flies 

Across the land on wings of gloom ! 
And thro' each Home its awful eyes 

May lighten with their stroke of doom. 
Life's light burns dim — we hold the breath — 
All sit stern in the shadow of Death, 

Around the household fire — 

This Winter 's-night in England, 
Straining our ears for the tidings of War, 

Holding our hearts, like Beacons, up higher, 
For those who are fighting afar. 



252 GLIMPSES OF TIJE WAR. 

We talk of Britain's glory, 

We sing some brave old song, 
Or tell the thrilling story 

Of her wrestle with the Wrong. 
Till we clutch the spirit sword for the strife, 

And into our Rest would rather fall 
Down Battle's cataract of life, 

Than turn the white face to the wall. 

Sing, 0, for a charge victorious ! 
And the meekest face grows glorious ! 

As we sit by the household fire, 

This Winter's-night in England, — 
Our souls within us like steeds of War ! 

And we hold our hearts, like Beacons, up higher. 
For those who are fighting afar. 

And oft in silence solemn 

We peer from Night's dark tent, 
And sec the quivering column 

Like a cloud by lightning rent. 
For death, how merry they mount and ride ! 

Those swords look keen for their lap of gore ! 
Such Valor leaps out Deified ! 

Such souls must rend the clay they wore ! 
IIow proud they sweep on Glory's track ! 
So many start ! so few come back 

To sit by the household fire. 

On a Winter's-night in England, 
And with rich tears wash their wounds of War, 

Where we hold our hearts, like Beacons, up 
higher, 
For those who are fighting afar. 

We thrill to the Clarion's clangor. 

And harness for tlie fight : 
With the Warrior's glorious anger, 

We are nobly mad to smite : 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 253 

No dalliance, save with Hate, hold we, 

Where Life and Death keep bloody tryst, 
And all the red Reality 

Reels on us through a murder-mist ! 
Wave upon wave rolls Ruin's flood, 
And the hosts of the Tyrant melt in blood, 

As we sit by the household fire ; 

This Winter 's-night in England, 
And our color flies out to the music of War, 

While we hold our hearts, like Beacons, up 
higher. 
For those who are fighting afar. 

Old England still hath Heroes 

To wear her sword and shield ! 
We knew them not while near us. 

We know them in the field ! 
Look ! how the Tyrant's hills they climb. 

To hurl our gage in his grim hold ! 
The Titans of the earlier time, 

Tho' larger-limb'd, were smaller-soul 'd ! 
Laurel, or Amaranth, light their brow I 
Living or dead, we crovni them now ! 

As we sit by the household fire. 

This Winter's-night in England : 
From the white cliffs watching the storm of War, 

Holding our hearts, like Beacons, up higher, 
For those who are fighting afar. 

! their brave love hath rootage 

In the Old Land, deep and dear. 
And Life's ripe, ruddy fruitage 

Hangs summering for them here ! 
And tender eyes, tear-luminous. 

Melt thro' the dark of dreamland skies. 
While, pleading aye for home and us, 

The heart is one live brood of cries ! 
Old feelings cling ! how they cling ! 
And sweet birds sing ! how they sing 



251 GLIMPSES or TliE WAR. 

Them hack to the household fire, 

This Winter's night in EngUmd, 
^Vhere we wait fur them weary and wounded from 
War, 

Holding our hearts, like Beacons, up higlier, 
For those who are fighting afar ! 

Ah, me ! how many a Maiden 

AVill wake o' nights, to find 
Her tree of life, love-laden. 

Swept bare in this wild wind ! 
The Bird of bliss, to many a nest, 

Will come back never, never mo ! 
So many a goodly, gallant crest 

That waved to victory, now lies low ! 
AYe pray for them, we fear for them, 
And silently drop a tear for them. 

As we sit by the household fire ; 

This Winter 's-night in England, 
Each life looking out for its own love-star ! 

Holding our hearts, like Beacons, up higher, 
For those who are fighting afar. 

But, there's no land like England, 

AVlierever that land may be ! 
Of all the world 'tis king-land 

Crown'd, by its Bride, the Sea ! 
And they sliall rest i' the balmiest bed, 

Who battle for it, and 1)leed for it ! 
And they shall be head of the Glorious Dead, 

Wlio die in the hour of need for it ! 
And long shall we sing of their deeds divine, 
In songs that warm the lieart like wine, 

As we sit by the household fire, 

On a Winter's-night in England, 
And the tale is told of this nioht of War, 

How we held our hearts, like Beacons, uj) 
higher. 
For those who were fighting afar. 



GLIMPSES' OF THE WAK. 255 



XVI. 

Sitting in her sorrow lone, 
Still our Mother makes her moan 
Tor the Lost ; and to the Manyr's Hill our 
thoughts in mourning go. 
0, that desert of the Dead, 
Who lay down in their death-bed, 
With their winding-sheet and wreath of winter 
snow ! 

Into glory had they rode 

When the tide of triumph flowed, 
Not a tear would we shed for the heroes lying low. 

But our hearts break for the Dead, 

In their desolate death-bed, 
With their windingr-sheet and wreath of winter 



Praying breath rose white in air, 
Eyes were set in a stern stare. 

Hands were stretcht for help that came not as they 
sank in silence low : 

Our grand, our gracious Dead, 
Who lay down in their death-bed. 

With their winding-sheet and wreath of winter 



Now the winter snows are gone. 
And Earth smiles as though the Dawn 
Had come up from it in Flowers — such a light of 
grace doth glow 

All about our darkened Dead, 
Who lay down in their death-bed. 
With their winding-sheet and wreath of winter 
snow. 



256 GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 

But, never, never more. 
Comes the Spring that will restore 
To their own love, their own land, the dear ones 
lying low 

On the Martyrs' Hill, our Dead 
Who lay down in their death-bed, 
With their winding-sheet and wreath of winter 
snow. 

Till with victory God replies, 
Shall our battle storm the skies, 
And our living heroes think, as they grapple with 
the foe. 
Of our perisht, peerless Dead, 
Who lay down in their death-bed , 
With their winding-sheet and wreath of winter 
snow. 

Through a hundred battles red, 
Shall their fame float overhead : 
Into everlasting flowers shall their martyr memo- 
ries blow. 

So we crown our glorius Dead, 
Who lay down in their death-bed, 
With their winding-sheet and wreath of winter 
snow. 



XVII. 

How shall I help thee. Mother, in thy need ? 
I cried, and lookt my life out thro' mine eyes, 
Across the smoke of thy great Sacrifice. 
Give me some perilous post, or daring deed. 
might I breathe in Song heroic breath. 
And strike my harp, as Lightning smites his wi 
To bear God's message with celestial fires ! 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 257 

Sing how the Glory of our land hath risen ; 
Sing midnight paeans by the Martyrs' graves ; 
Walk War's red highways, voyage grim wide 

waves : 
Or in an English cheer go down to death, 
Where the soul hurst in wings on Battle's wind : 
No ! England waves her Minstrels forth to find 
Our Lion Heart again in Austria's prison. 



XVIII. 

They have died, our true and tried, ere Our flag 

victorious flew 
O'er the burning battle-hell, we must ride to 

conquest through. 
But they died, our Glorified! on the field of their 

renown ; 
And they died when the pride of the Foeman's 

power went down. 
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave ! 
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill with our bravest 

Brave ! 

A proud flame in the Death-wind waved the 

Warrior's soaring plume : 
Stern in his shroud of fire, the Foe glared from his 

burning tomb ! 
Victory's shouts were ringing as they flasht from 

out the strife. 
To meet God's angels bringing garlands for the 

Kings of Life. 
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave ! 
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill with our bravest 

Brave ! 
17 



258 GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 

Bear them to that grave in a solemn march and 
slow, 

Let Music talk in tears o'er the great ones lying 
low; 

They will sleep calm and deep when the battle- 
bugles blow ; 

A sumptuous monument they shall have when next 
we meet the Foe ! 

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave ! 

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill with our bravest 
Brave ! 

We quaff our cup o' the vintage, and from darkened 

depths arise 
The bubbles, like the tears that plead in Desolation's 

eyes; 
Yet there's glory in our grief — 'tis a glory that 

shall grow 
When our Sorrow hath no morrow, and 'twas 

centuries ago. 
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous p^rave ! 
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill with our In-avest 

Brave ! 

Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, — their glory from 

its crest 
Shall flame, a terror to the North, a watchfire to 

the AVcst ! 
They have done with their work, lay them down to 

their rest. 
In their hand the battle-brand, with the banner on 

their breast. 
Bury them on Cathcart's Hill, 'tis a famous grave ! 
Bury tliem on Cathcart's Hill witli our bravest 

Brave ! 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 259 



XIX. 



SUFFERING pcople, this is not our fight, 

"Who called a holy crusade for the right. 

The Despot's bloody game our tricksters play, 

And stake our future, chance by chance, away. 

darkened hearts in desolate homestead ! 

wasted bravery of our mighty dead ! 

The flower of men fall stricken from behind : 

The Knaves and Cowards stab us bound and blind. 

With faces turned from battle, they went forth : 

We marcht with ours set stern against the North. 

They shuflled lest their feet should rouse the dead : 

We went with resurrection in our tread. 

They trembled lest the world might come to blows : 

We quivered for the tug and mortal close. 

They only meant a mild hint for the Czar : 

We would have bled him through a sumptuous war. 

While they were quenching Freedom's scattered 

fires, 
We kindled memories of heroic Sires. 
They'd have this grand old England cringe and 

pray, 
" Don't smite me. Kings ; but if you will, you 

may : ' ' 
We'd make her as in those proud times of old, 
When Cromwell spoke, and Blake's war-thunders 

rolled. 
They to the passing powers of darkness fawn : 
With warrior, joy we greet this crimson Dawn. 
To crowned Bloodsuckers they would bind us slaves : 
We would be free, or sleep in glorious graves. 
State-Spiders, Here or There, Aveave webs alike ; 
These hold the victims, while the others strike. 
The Dwarfs drag our great Banner in the mire : 
We ask for men to bear it high and higher. 
stop their fiddling over War's grim revel, 
And pitch them from your shoulders to — the Devil 



260 GLIill'SES or THE WAR. 



XX. 

There was a poor old Woman once, a daughter of 

our nation, 
Before the Devil's portrait stood in ignorant 

adoration. 
" You're bowino; down to Satan, Ma'am," said 

some Spectator civil : 
"Ah, Sir, ifs best to be polite, for we may go to 

the Devil." 

Bow, bow, bow : 
We may go to the Devil, so it's just as well to 

bow. 

So England hails the Saviour of Society, and will 

tarry at 
His feet, nor see her Christ is he who sold him, 

curst Iscariot. 
By grace of God, or sleight of hand, he wears the 

royal vesture. 
And at thy throne, Divine Success ! we kneel with 

reverent gesture. 

And bow, bow, bow : 
We may go to the Devil, so it"s just as well to 

bow, 

when the Sun is over us, we venerate the 

sunlight ; 
But when Eclipse is over it, we venerate tlie 

dunlight. 
No matter what is uppermost, upon all-fours we 

revel, 
And when IIoU triumphs over Heaven — conciliate 

the Devil, 

And bow, bow, bow : 
We may go to the Devil, so it's just as well to 

bow. 



GLIMPSES OF THE WAR. 261 

Ah, Louis, had you come to us despised and re- 
jected. 

You might have gone to — Coventry, unnoticed 
and neglected : 

But as you've done one Nation so, and left another 
undone. 

We kiss you Sire at Windsor — crown you more 
than king in London, 

And bow, bow, bow : 

We may go to the Devil, so it's just as well to 
bow. 

Our Idol's hands are red with blood, with blood 

his eyes are sodden, 
But we know 'tis only Russian blood which he has 

spilt and trodden ! 
He wears the imperial purple now, that plotting 

prince of evil ; 
He lets us share his glory if we bow dovni to the 

Devil ; 

And we bow, bow, bow : 
We may go to the Devil, so it's just as well to 

bow. 

With hand to hilt, and ear to earth, waits Revolu- 
tion, breathless. 

To catch tho resurrection sound of Liberty the 
deathless ! 

But we see no danger hug us round — no Sword 
hang o'er us gory. 

While to this mocking Mirage in the sunset of our 
glory 

We bow, bow, bow : 

We may go to the Devil, so it's just as well to bow. 

Back, back, you foolish Peoples, slink into your 

weeping places. 
Quench Freedom's torch in tears, and put her light 

out in your faces : 



2G2 GLIMPSES OF TUE WAR. 

The heart of EngUmd beats no more to the old 

heroic level ; 
The poor old AVoman bows before her Portrait of 

the Devil. 

Bow, bow, bow : 
She may go to the Devil, so it's just as well to bow. 



XXI. 

Fades the New Aurora 

That 80 glorious shone afar, 
We but saw its fair ftice siuiiing 

In the wreck-fed waves of war. 
The peace-fool to his pillow 

Now may sneak, and sleep : 
But a glory gone for ever, 

\Vc must weep ; let us weep. 

Sleep the buried thunders ; 

Their reverljerations cease : 
And the grim old War-God 

Must smile — a painted Peace. 

Wild eyes arc mad-house windows 

Of Souls that plead in vain ! 
Over their old dark sorrow 

Greene th the soft spring-rain. 

Cowards in the Council ! 

Heroes in tlie field ! 
Is our short sad story 

By tlie l)lood of Martyrs sealed. 
On those lone Crimean ridges 

In the night our dead arise, 
And tlie Norland winds come wailing 

With their curses, and their cries. 



GLIMPSES OF THE AVAR. 263 

Sublime in all her suffering ! 

In the fi^ht so brave ! 
Poor old England's victories 

Bow her to the grave. 
On the Sea she keeps her Eden, 

But the Snake is curled 
Round her heart, that will beguile her 

Of her crown of the world. 

Had we struck for Freedom 

One immortal battle-blow, 
Like the men who rose for England, 

Two hundred years ago, — 
The dead Nations lying 

Where they fought and fell of old. 
Would have risen from their prison, 

And ther buried flags unrolled. 

For the dwellers in the valleys, 

A returning Spring 
O'er the hills will break and beacon ; 

They will go forth conquering ! 
When our poor, proud England 

Low and lone shall lie 
On her sea-rock bound ; and Tyrants 

Mock her riding by. 



THE 



BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTY, 



THE BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTY. 



Who wears a singing-robe is richlj dight, 

Said Mabel ; he is greater than a King. 

I would I were a Poet happy-mad : 

Up like a Lark i' the morning of the times, 

To sing above the human harvesters : 

Drop fancies, dainty-sweet, to cheer their toil, 

And hurry out a ripe luxuriance 

Of life in song, as though my heart would break ; 

And sing them sweet and precious memories, 

And golden promises, and throbbing hopes ; 

Hymn the great future with its mystery. 

That startles us from out the dark of time 

With secrets numerous as a night of stars : 

Those days hung round with loftier heavens, where 

move 
The larger souls with grandly solemn pace : 
Or send wronged Nations to the battle-field 
With eyes that weep and burn — stir as with fire 
The grand wild beast of Valor, till it leapt 
The red Arena fiery for the fight : 
Then bind with garlands brave the Patriot's brow. 
Anon I would sing songs so sweetly pure. 
That they might pillow a budding Maiden's cheek, 
Like spirit-hands, and catch her tender tears ; 
Or nestle next her heart lapt up in love : — 
Songs that in far lands, under alien skies, 



2G8 THE BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTY. 

Should spring from English hearts like flowers of 

home. 
I'd strive to bring down liglit from Heaven to read 
The records writ on Poverty's prison walls, 
The signs of greatness limned in martyr blood, 
And make worn faces glow with warmth of love 
Into the lineaments of heavenly beauty. 

"Who wears a singing-robe is richly dight ; 
The Poet, he is greater than a King. 
He plucks the veil from hidden loveliness : 
His gusts of music stir the shadowing boughs, 
To let in glor}^ on the darkened soul. 
Upon the hills of light he plants his feet 
To lure the people up with harp and voice ; 
At humblest human hearths drops dews divine 
To feed the violet virtues nestling there. 
His hands adorn the poorest liouse of life 
"With rare abiding shapes of loveliness. 
All things obey his souTs creative eye ; 
For him earth ripens fruit-like in the light ; 
Green April comes to him with smiling tears, 
Like some sweet Maiden who transfigured stands 
In dewy light of first love's rosy dawn. 
And yields all secret prcciousness, his Bride. 
He reaps the Autumn without scythe or sickle ; 
And in the sweet low sincjing of the corn, 
Hears coming Plenty hush the pining Poor. 

The shows of things are but a robe o' the day. 
His life down-deepens to the living heart, 
And Sorrow shows him her wise mysteries. 
He knoweth Life is but a longer year, 
And it will blossom bright in other springs. 
The soul of all tilings is invisible. 
And nearest to that soul the Poet sings ; 
A sweet, shy Bird in darkling privacy. 
He beckons not the Pleasures as they pass, 
And lets the money-grubbing world go by. 



He hath a towering life, but cannot climb 

Out of the reach of sad calamity : 

A many carking cares pluck at his skirts ; 

Wild, wandering words are hissing at his ear ; 

He runs the gauntlet of world-woes to reach 

The inner sanctuary of better life. 

But tho' the seas of sorrow flood his heart, 

Some silent spring of roses blossoms there. 

His spirit-wounds a precious balsam bleed. 

The loveliest ministrants that visit him, 

Rise veiled when his heart-fountains spring in tears. 

And when this misty life hath rolled away ; 

The turmoil husht ; all foolish voices still ; 

The bonds that crusht his great heart shattered 

down, 
And all his nature shines sublimely bare ; 
Death whitens manj" a stain of strife and toil. 
And careful hands shall pluck away each weed 
Around the spring that wells melodious life. 



Many and many are called, but few are crowned, 
Charmian replied. I knew a Poet once ; 
One of the world's most marvellous might-have- 
beens ; 
A strange wild harper upon human heart-strings. 
Life's morning-glory around him prophesied 
That he should win his garland in the game. 
But he was lost for lack of that sweet thing, 
A Wife, to live his love's dear dream of beauty, 
And wandered darkling in his dazzling dream. 
Life's waters — troubled till that Angel comes — 
Never grew calm above the jewel he sought, 
Till in Death's harbor all their surges slept. 



270 THE BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTY. ! 

He was betrothed to Beauty ere his birth — 

That silent Spirit of the universe, 

Which seeks interpreters of her dumb shows, 

'Mong human lovers whom she may not wed ! 

This Spirit arose from many things, as soars 

The soul of Harmony from many sounds. 

She beckoned him for her Evangelist, 

Out of the byeway of his lonely life, 

And straightway he arose and followed her, 

And in the shadow of her loveliness, 

Or in her wake of glory, walkt the world. 

That smiling Shape, like hers we worship, seemed 
Some beauteous miracle of silent love. 
Thro' smiles, and tears, he saw his visioned Bride, 
With gorgeous grace, and twinkling limbs of light, 
Aye dancing on in her delightsomeness. 
His love-dream gilded silent thro' his life. 
Like rosy-handt'd Day 'twixt Earth and Xight, 
And came betwixt his mind and all its glooms ; 
Her sandals wet and fragrant with Heaven's dew. 
She set the barren thorns in jewelled glow. 
And sowed the furrows of his life with flowers. 
He followed with wild looks and heart a-fire, 
And that rich mist of feeling in the eyes. 
Whose alchymy half-creates the thing we see. 

She rose in sparkling clouds of dazzling dew. 

And kept this ]Morning"s ruddy golden gates ; 

Stood high in sunrise on the mountain-top ; 

Sate in her bower of the silvery air. 

Shedding her beauty richly on the sea, 

Which of her likeness took sume trembly tints I 

Voyaged like Venus in her car of cloud 

About the sapphire heaven's lake of love, 

Or danced on sunset streams to harp of gold : 

Then twilight mists would robe more faint and fair 

Her dim, delicious, dreamy loveliness. 



THE BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTY. Z71 

The Flowers that startle at the voice of May 
And open gamesome eyes, had been with her ; 
Their subtle smile said what they could reveal. 
Among the boughs of balm rainbowed with bloom ; 
The colored clouds that kindle and richly rise 
From out the bosom of Earth's emerald sea ; 
Hedge-roses set in dewy glory green ; 
The lush Laburnums, all a rain of gold ; 
She seemed to have fled and left her robe afloat. 
An Ariel, soft she murmured in the pines ; 
He heard, but knew no magic word or wand. 
A wavy Naiad, she rippled the cool brooks 
That round her dallied in delicious dreams. 
The fragrant feeling of the languorous air 
Was as the soft endearment of her touch, 
And wound him in her tremulous caress. 

Not by appointment do we meet Delight 
And Joy ; they heed not our expectancy ; 
But round some corner in the streets of life, 
They, on a sudden, clasp us with a smile. 
So on him rose his visitant divine, 
From many a magic mirror of the mind ; 
With elfin evanescence came and went. 

When, thronged with life, the Year in beauty 

burst, 
Lifted her lids, and blossomed from the trees, 
She smiled in all the gateways of the spring. 
Li buruisht bark swam down the summer tide 
That floods the valleys, breaks o'er all the hills, 
In sparkling spray of flowers, and leafy life. 
She bound the Autumn's brow with plumes of 

gold. 
And roofed her forests with the radiant wealth 
Of melted rainbows, shoAvered from summer heaven. 
And winter trees stretcht fingers weird to win 
Her perfect pearl, and her white purity. 
Where'er she went Earth lookt up with a smile. 



272 TUE BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTY. 

Thro' Music's maze she glode at hide-and-seek ; 
Played with the Storm, then in her rainbow-shape 
Laught frum the purple ykirts of Heaven, as laughs 
Some radiant Child Irom Mother's hiding robe. 

Adown dim forest-windings he would peer ; 
Surprise his Beautiful at her w^oodland ])ath, 
And in a solemn hush of heart stand still 
Like fixed flame ! for lo, how softly burned 
Her dainty limbs shadowed with cloudy pearl ! 
Then swift as runs a wind-wave over grass. 
He saw her garments gleam in leafy light. 
Were those love-whisperings among tlie leaves, 
Or elvish laughters twitting thro' the trees? 
Sometimes the boughs let in her haunting face ; 
The glance would make his blood run lightning 

red ; 
But the old forest kept the secret still, 
And husht it round with grave unconscious look. 

In vernal nights so tender, calm, and cool, 
When eerie Darkness lays its shadowy hands 
On Earth, and reads her sins with myriad eyes. 
Like a Confessor o'er a kneeling Nun ; 
He stood in God's wide whispering gallery, 
And breathed his worship : down from visible 

Heaven 
Her influence fell, and thrilled in music thro' 
The silences of space, and soothed his soul, 
Till life was folded up brimful! of beauty, 
As the flower folds its pearl and droops to dream. 

At times, from out the curtains of the dark. 

Her face would meet him thro' the glowing gloom. 

Sometimes slie passed ; her rippling raiment toucht 

His brows, and sphered liim witli diviner air, 

Like honeysuckles bruslit at dewy dusk. 

The fragrance of her breath made old earth young. 

From mystery to mystery, like a Bride, 



THE BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTY. 273 

The dainty -waisted darling led him on, 
And dropt love-tokens in his pilgrim path. 
The red Rose peering thro' its lattice leaves 
Like warm Love lifting half its virgin veil, 
Sjmbolled her soft red mouth held up for kisses. 
A balm of life, and mist of ripening bloom, 
Gave to her tender cheeks their taking touch. 
Her eyes v^ere glowing orbs of thought that burned 
Fervent as Hesper in the brow of Eve. 

He walkt as in a clime of golden eves. 
The vineyard of his life reeled lusty ripe ; 
He ached to press the wine upon her lips. 
But aye she melted from his love's embrace. 
To float him far away in faery lands. 
The wooing wind would murmur of her fairness. 
And round him breathe in many whispers sweet ; 
Bring dews of healing as from Hermon hill ; 
Creep to his burning heart with drink of life. 
And cool him with her kisses. Oft he husht. 
As one who pauses on a midnight heath, 
To catch the footfall felt on Fancy's ear. 

"When he awoke in Dreamland, 'twas to find 
He had been floated thro' some starry dark. 
Far from earth's shore, on an enchanted sea : 
And he lay pillowed 'twixt her white warm 

breasts. 
In glowing arms of glorifying love : 
A light of love-dreams on her features shone, 
With ripening lustre, and enriching calm : 
And she had laid her daylight mask aside ; 
All the sweet soul of things lay bare, as lies 
The mirrored moon in silver sleeping seas. 

A shimmering splendor from the By-gone broke, 
As the Ship leaves a luminous wake behind ; 
And, looking back, his Childhood's world she 
ringed 

18 



274 TUE BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTY. 



1 



With rich auroral hues of summer daAvns. 
"When weird, dark shapes of sorrow hunted nigh 
With their slow solemn eyes, and silent aim. 
She dropt the gold cloud of her tresses round him. 
AV^hen o'er him hun^ the night of adverse fate, 
She iiaraed a light of love along his path, 
And through the darkness of his soul there broke 
A heaven of worlds all tenderness and peace. 

At times he walkt with glad and confident step, 

As inner wings to heroic music moved ; 

And men who read his lighted look might deem 

His life a summer story told in flowers. 

But often he would falter weeping- weak, 

AVith clasped hands, and very lowly heart. 

Then she rose glorified in finer light. 

Seen thro' the altar-smoke and mist of tears. 

So his life grew to beauty silently, 

And shaped his soul into an orb of song. 

He sang of Her his beautiful Unknown, 

Heart-wild, as some glad bird that sings of Spring, 

And all Earth's voices rang a rich refrain. 

He would have made the world her worshipper : 

The sceptic world that flung him Christ's old crown. 

One day our passionate pilgrim sat him down 

By the wayside of life, and thus he sang : 

" Like a tree beside the river 

Of her life that runs from me, 
Do I lean me, murmuring ever 

In my love's idolatry. 
Lo, I reach out hands of blessing, 
• Lo, I stretch out hands of prayer; 
And, with passionate caressing, 

Pour my life upon the aii\ 
In my ears the syren river 

Sings, and smiles up in my fiice; 
But for ever, and for ever, 
Huns from my embrace. 



THE BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTlf. 275 

" Spring by spring the branches duly 

Clothe themselves in tender flower ; 
And for her sweet sake as truly 

All their fruit and fragrance shower. 
But the stream, with careless laughter 

Runs in merry beauty by, 
And it leaves me yearning after. 

Lorn to droop, and lone to die. 
In my ears the syren river 

Sings, and smiles up in my face; 
But for ever, and for ever, 
Runs from my embrace. 

*' I stand mazed in the moonlight, 

O'er its happy face to dream; 
I am parched in the noonlight 

By that cool and brimming stream : 
I am dying by the river 

Of her life that runs from me, 
And it sparkles by me ever, 

With its cool felicity. 
In my ears the syren river 

Sings, and smiles up in my face; 
But for ever, and for ever, 
Runs from my embrace." 



THOU Beloved ! thou Beautiful ! 
Throned on perfection for thy pedestal : 
spirit as the lightning wild and bright. 
Come from thy palace of the purple light. 
Come down to mortal arms a living form. 
With heavenly height of brow, and bosom warm. 
Glow human from the mist, thou Shape of Grace; 
Thou tender wonder, fold me face to face. 
Art thou not mine, thou delicate Delight ? 
Hast thou not visited me noon and night ? 
Freighted with my dead Hopes I follow thee. 
Like some Norse sea-king flaming out to sea. 



276 THE BRIDEGROOM OF BEAUTY. 

Say, arc tlie pleasant bowers far away, 

Deckt by thy dear liaiuls fur our marriage-day, 

Whei-e we the gardens of delight shall roam 

In endless love? ^Vhen wilt thou lead me home. 

To find our bliss in Heaven's honied heart; 

Live secret soul to soul, never to part ? 

" awful Glory, felt, but never found j 

I have but seen thy Shadow on life's ground. 

I know thee now, Immortal ! show the way 

To thine Elysium, I could die to-day. 

Break into wings this chrysalis of my life, 

That I may soar to thee my spirit-wife. 

Thy dark bower-door, the Grave, gives me no fear 

When I emerge beyond, thou wilt be near." 



O'er all liis face the sudden splendor smiled, 
Sweet as first love, and sad as wailing winds. 
His soul liad rent the veil 'twixt life and life. 
Slowl}'^ the shininjz; vapors orb a Star, 
By line degrees l)efore his lixed eyes. 
The Spirit he had sought thro' all the world, 
Turned full upon him face to face at last. 
She laid her hand upon his throbbing harp; 
She prest her lips upon his passionate life ; 
The harp and life stood still. liis Bride was 
Death. 



CRUMBS FROM THE TABLE. 



LITTLE WILLIE. 



Poor little Willie, 

With his many pretty wiles ; 
Worlds of wisdom in his looks, 

And quaint, quiet smiles ; 
Hair of amber, toucht with 

Gold of Heaven so brave ; 
All lyino; darkly hid 

In a Workhouse Grave. 

You remember little Willie ; 

Fair and funny fellow I he 
Sprang like a lily 

From the dirt of poverty. 
Poor l;ttle Willie ! 

Not a friend was nigh. 
When, from the cold world, 

He croucht down to die. 

In the day we wandered foodless, 

Little Willie cried for bread ; 
In the night we wandered homeless, 

Little Willie cried for bed. 
Parted at the Workhouse door, 

Not a word we said : 
Ah, so tired was poor Willie, 

And so sweetly sleep the dead. 



280 CRUMBS FROM TUE TABLE. 

'Twas in the dead of winter 

AVe laid him in the earth ; 
The world Ijrouglit in the New Year, 

On a tide of mirth. 
But, for lost little Willie, 

Not a tear we crave ; 
Cold and Hunger cannot wake him, 

In his AYorkhouse Grave. 

We thought him beautiful, 

Felt it hard to part ; 
We loved him dutiful ; 

Down, down, poor heart! 
The storms thej may beat ; 

The winter winds may rave ; 
Little Willie feels not, 

In his AVorkhouse Grave. 

No room for little Willie ; 

In the world he had no part ; 
On him stared the Gorgon-eye, 

Thro' which looks no heart. 
Come to me, said Heaven ; 

xVnd, if Heaven will save, 
Little matters though the door 

Be a AVorkhouse Grave. 



A BALLAD OF THE OLD TIME. 

Sweet Night, drop down from thy starry bower 

Tliy influence dewy mild ; 
Softly bend over my love's tender flower, 

As a Mother bends over her child. 
Hush the hills in a mystic dream ; 

To 8lum])er stretch valley and lea ; 
Fold over all thy purple and pall, 

And bring my Love V) me. 



CRUMBS FROM THE TABLE. 281 

You white witching Moon, with your beautiful 
smile ; 

You flowers that fondle his feet ; 
You weird wee Women of fairyland, wile 

Not my Love with your kisses sweet. 
For him my bower in the old gray tower 

Is dighted daintilie : 
All gentle Powers that walk the night-hours, 

Hasten my Love to me. 

I count my love's rosary over again, 

With its feelings and fancies and fears ; 
Till it breaks in my brain with the tension of pain. 

And my pearls are but trembling tears ! 
I sorrow and sing with the thorn at my breast. 

But mine eyes watch unweariedly : 
Come crown them, and calm them, and kiss them 
to rest ; 

Dear my Love, come to me. 

The ripe swelling buds that are quick with spring, 

Will peep from their silken fold ; 
And my broidered belt is too short to cling 

' Round my waist with its girdling gold. 
But my Love he will bring the gay gold ring ; 

Base-born his Babe shall not be ! 
Leal is his love as the Heaven above : 

He never will lightly me. 

My Love he hath little of silver or gold ; 

Of land he hath never a sod ; 
But my Love is a gay gallant gentleman — 

He's a king by the grace of God. 
He has borne up the battle-tide broad-sword in 
hand ! 

He is comely as any ladye ! 
and were I a King's daughter, 

None other should marry me. 



282 CRUMBS FROM TUE TABLE. 

Mj Love shall not wait at the Castle-gate, 

My Love shall not tirl at the pin ; 
My Love he shall climb to my bower-window ; 

Sing 0, but I'll let my Love in. 
The dragon below lieth weary and old, 

Sleeping all under the tree ; 
While I feast my Love upon apples of gold — 

But soft ! He is coming to me. 



THE SUNBEAM AND THE ROSE. 

'• Pretty Rosebud, are thy crimson 

Curtains still undrawn ? 
Odalisque of Flowers — 

Tender soul o' the fervid South ! 
I am dainty of thy beauty, 

All this dewy dawn ; 
I am fainting Ibr the ruddy 

Kisses of thy mouth." 

Sang the syren Sunbeam, 

AVith a voice made low to win ; 
Round the Rose-heart playing. 

Till it toucht the tenderest strings ; 
" Pretty Rosebud, ope thy lattice, 

Let thy true love in." 
And for Heaven down-wavering warm, 

She waved her leafy wings ! 
Listen, Ladies, to mv song o' the Sunbeam and 
THE Rose. 

Oat she sprang, kiss-colorod. 
In her eyes the dews of bliss ; 

All her beauty glowing 

With a blush of bridal light ! 



CRUMBS FROM THE TABLE. 283 

Gave her balm and bloom for banquet 

To the golden kiss ; 
Proudly oped each chamber 

For a princelier delight. 

Soon the Serpent of Sweetness, 

Sated, could no longer stay ; 
And away he went, a- wooing 

Every flower that blows ! 
'TAvas the reign of Roses 

When that Sunbeam passed to-day ; 
Lonely in her rifled ruin 

Droopt the dying Rose. 
Listen, Ladies, to my song o' the Sunbeam and 
THE Rose. 



SONG. 

Methought to bear her branches crowned 

With fruit, my virgin vine : 
Another fills her arms ; around 

Another life they twine ! 
So I lost the day. 

And all the night I wake, — 
Bird-like singing sad sorrow away. 

Until my heart shall break. 

While others gleaned Life's field for gold. 

With Flowers I made a crown : 
Till, looking up alone, behold, 

The deepening night came down ! 
So 1 lost the day. 

And all the night I wake, — 
Bird-like singing sad sorrow away. 

Until my heart shall break. 



284 CRUMBS FROM THE TABLE. 

Ah me ! I claspt a reed, and missed 

My sweetest Syrinx fled ! 
Ah me ! my tcndorest music's kist 

From lips of dear love dead. 
I have lost the day, 

And all the night I wake, — 
Bird-like singing sad sorrow away, 

Until my heart shall break. 



LONG AGO. 

Old friend of mine, you were dear to my heart, 
Long, long ago, long ago. 

Little did we think of a time we should part, 
Long, long ago, long ago. 

Hand claspt in hand thro' the world we would go. 

Down our old untrodden path the wild weeds grow ! 

Great was the love 'twixt us ; sair Avas the smart : 
Old friend of mine long ago. 

Patient watch I kept for you many, many a day, 
Long, long ago, long ago ; 

Waited and wept for you far, f\ir away, 
Long, long ago, long ago. 

Merry came each May-tide, green leaves would 
start : 

Never came my old friend back to my heart. 

Lonely I went on my weary, weary way, 
Old friend of mine lono; aoro. 

Oft as I muse at the shadowy nightfall 
Over the dear Long Ago, 

Borne on tears arises the dark, dark pall, 
Fallen on my heart long ago. 

Love is not dead, tho' we wander apart ; 

How I could clasp you, old friend, to my heart ! 

Barriers lie between us, but God knoweth all. 
Old friend of mine Ions: aso. 



CRUMBS FROM THE TABLE. 285 



CRAIGCROOK ROSES. 

Craigcrook Roses ! ruby, golden, 

Glowing gorgeous ; faint with passion ; 

To the sweet flower-soul unfolden : 
Wreathe me in the old Greek fashion. 

Queen of sweetness, crowned with splendor, 
Every rich round bud uncloses ; 

Yet so meek and womanly tender 
Are you royal Craigcrook Roses, 
Warm and winy Craigcrook Roses. 

Leaning with some unknown yearning, 
You would make a lover sin, you 

Pretty wooers, archly turning 

As you climb to make us win you. 

Ripe perfection of fair fulness 
In your gracious bloom reposes ; 

And an emerald bower for coolness, 
Summer builds my Craigcrook Roses, 
Amorous-dreaming Craigcrook Roses. 

When the year is old and hoary. 
And the day is dark with dolors ; 

Still you come, my guests of glory, 
In voluptuous dance of colors. 

And — tho' Earth like Age is toiling 
In the snowdrifts — perfumed posies 

Kiss me, crown my spirit smiling 
Down a dream of Craigcrook Roses, 
Dear, delicious Craigcrook Roses. 

Fairest 'mong Light's daughters seven, 
With your dainty dreamy graces ; 

You might light with loving leaven 
Smiles of spring in wintriest faces. 



286 CRUMBS TROM^TUE TABLE. 

At the solemn sliut of daylight 
When the fair life-vision e loses ; 

May my spirit float a^Yay light 
On a cloud of Craigerook Koses, 
' Cooled and crowned with Craisrerook Roses. 



SOXG. 

Love will make the leal heart ache 

That never ached before ; 
And meek or merry eyes 'twill make 

With solemn tears run o'er. 
In tears we parted tenderly, 

My Love and I lang-syne ; 
And evermore she vowed to be 

Mine own, aye mine, all mine ! 

Sing the tree is blossoming, 

But the worm is at the root ; 
And many a darling flower of Spring 

Will never come to fruit. 
We meet now in the streets of life ; 

All gone, the old sweet charms ; 
At my side leans a loving Wife ; 

She — jiasseS'Babe-in-arms. 



DIRGE. 

iiAPrY tree ; 

Green and fragrant tree ; 
Spring with l)udding jewels dcckt it like a Bride! 

All so fair it bloomed, 

.Vnd the summer air ])erfumed ; 
Golden autumn fruitage smiled in crowns of pride. 



CRUMBS FROM THE TABLE. 



287 



human tree ; 

"NYaesome wailing tree ; 
In the winter wind how it rocks ! how it grieves ! 

On a little low grave-mound, 

All its bravery lies discrowned : 
O'er its fallen fruit it heaps the withered leaves. 



"IN THE DEAD UNHAPPY MIDNIGHT." 

'Tis Midnight hour, and the Dead have power 

Over the Wronger now ! 
He is tortured and torn by the crown of thorn 

That hath fallen from the Suicide's brow. 

"Wind him around in the toil of thy charms ; 

Nestle him close, young Bride ! 
At the Midnight hour he is drawn from thy 
arms ; 

Thro' the dark with the Dead he must ride. 

The rose of her mouth is red- wet, red-warm : 

She smiles in her heaven of calm. 
Tost ! hurried ! and sered in a pitiless storm ; 

Slumber for him hath no balm. 

He feels that ghastly groping along 

The Corridor of Dreams ! 
And a dark Desolation Lightning-lit 

Is his face by ghastly gleams ! 

Love's cup flushes up for his crowning kiss, 
With his lip at the burning brim ! 

Lo, the Dead uncurtain his bower of bliss. 
Stretching wild arms for him ! 



288 CRUMBS FROM THE TABLE. 

AV'ind him around in the toil of thy charms ; 

Nestle him close, youn^ Bride ! 
Yet, at Midnight hour he is drawn from thy arms ; 

Thro' the dark with the Dead he must ride. 

And the Dark hath a million burning Eyes, 

All of his 'secret tell ! 
And the whispering winds are damned fiends 

That hiss in his ears of Hell ! 

Warm in her bed the young Bride lies, 

Breathing her peaceful breath : 
Dead Mother and Babe with their drowned eyes 

Stare dim thro' the watery death. 

'Tis Midnight hour and the Dead have power 

Over the Wronger now ! 
He is tortured and torn by the crown of thorn 

That hath fallen from the Suicide's brow. 



ONLY A DREAM. 



19 



ONLY A DREAM. 



The silvery veil of Sleep came trembling down 

Like sweet snow white and warm in a silent world, 

And softly covered up the face of life. 

The nurse-like Spirit laid my body to rest, 

And went to meet her Bridegroom in the night, 

"Who comes like music o'er the star-shored sea, 

And clasps her at the portal with a kiss. 

When lo, a hand reacht thro' the dark, and drew 

Her gliding silent on, and looking up 

The unfeatured gloom grew into Charmian's face. 

I read her look, and we two wandered forth 

In the cool glory of the glimmering night : 

The Earth lay faint with love at the feet of Heaven : 

Her breath of incense went up thro' the leaves 

In a lown sough of bliss. Warm winds on tip-toe 

Walkt over the tall tree-tops. Above us burned 

The golden legends on Night's prophet-brow ; 

The Moon rose o'er the city, a glory of gold ; 

Around us Life rehearst Death's mystery. 

And Charmian wore her luminous loveliness 

As in a stole of sorrow ; by day she moved 

In some serene elysium ; queenly-sweet, 

And gracious ; breathing beauty ; a heaven of 

dreams 
In her large lotus eyes, darkly divine : 
Warm winged Ardors plumed her parted lips. 
But now her blooming Life's luxuriant flower 



292 ONLY A DREAM. 

Seemed withered into ashen spirit-fruit. 

And like a spirit flasht her white, lit face ! 

Portentous things which hid themselves hy day, 

Sweet-shadowed 'neath her sunning beauty-hluom, 

Came peering thro' the dim and sorrowy night. 

Her lips, red-ripe to crush their fire-strong wine, 

Pouting persuasive in perpetual kiss, 

Were thin with anguish, bitter with pale pain. 

And from the windows whence her Beauty laught 

As Age went by, a life of suffering lookt, 

And perisht visions flasht their phantom light. 

White waves of sea-like soul had climbed, and dasht 

The red light from its heaven of her cheek. 

Iler bounteous breast that breathed magnificence. 

And billowed with proud blood, sighed meekly now. 

The flowers her Spartan spirit crowned her with 

For the life-battle, dropt about her dead. 

Diaphanous in the moonlight grew her life 

Witli all its written agony visible ; 

Down the dark deep of her great grief I stared, 

And saw the Wreck with all its dead around. 

And my heart melted in its mournfulness ; 

She moaned, as hers were breaking in its pain; 

And then her voice vibrated piteous as 

A Spirit wailing in a world of tears. 

But stifled half its pathos not to hurt. 

" Earth sleepeth in the moonlight's mystic grace, 
The breath of blessings round her ; and all Heaven 
Is passing thro' her dream ; it trembles near ; 
She feels the Seraph-kisses on her face ; 
But she will wake at morn in tears to find 
The glory gone — all was a dream o' the niglit. 
And thus my young Life slumbered, dreamed, and 
woke ! 

" It ran in shadow like the woudland brook. 
Feeling its way, with yearuings for the light, 
Until it surges flashing in the sun. 



ONLY A DREAM. 293 

And takes a crown of glory on its head. 

Even so I found him whom mj soul had sought, 

And fled into his breast with a cry of triumph, 

Who lit up all things beautiful for me. 

And thro' my happy tears there lookt in mine 

A face as sweet as morning violets, 

A face alight with love ineffable, 

The star-like heart-hid wonder trembling through : 

And o'er me leaned, — as Spring-heaven over earth. 

Dropping her love down in a rain of flowers, — 

To feed me with all flowers of delight, 

And crown me as his queen of all delight. 

" Light hung a garland grace about his brow ; 
His voice, like footprints in the yielding snow. 
Sank deepest with its softest fall of words. 
He gave the casket of his happiness 
Rich with love's jewel for my hands to keep. 
Around his stalwart beauty twined my life, 
In golden oneness, and in proud repose ; 
And like a God he claspt me with his strength ! 
And like a God he held me in his heaven ; 
And all the air was golden with my God. 

" Alas, that Woman's life divorced from Man's, 
And seeking to be one again in love, 
So often flies back thro' the grim wide wound ! 
Alas, that Time should crown with fruit of pain. 
That seed from Eden whose fair flower is love ! 
They tore me from my Love ! they thrust him forth , 
Spurned his rich love, and scorned his poverty ; 
Rent all the twining tendrils of my life 
To shrink back bleeding in their desolate home. 
My heart was shivered like the charmed cup 
That, breaking, brings the Hall in ruins round ; 
And every fragment mirrored the great wrong ! 

"And while my mind yet wandered dark and dumb. 
They sold me to a Worldling, wrinkled, rich 



2U4 ON Li' A DREAM. 

And rotten, who bought Love's sweet name for gold. 
They drest mc in bride-llowers who should have 

worn 
The white and wimpled weeds of widowhood, 
And led me forth, a jewelled mockery ! 
'Twas like a wedding with the sheeted dead, 
In silent hurry, and white ghastliness. 
No bosoms beat Love's cymbals music-matcht ; 
No blisses blusht, no bridal-kisses burned. 
The ring was on my hand, few saw the chain 
By which my Husband drew me to his home, 
And many envied me my happiness. 
That night as we sat alone I felt his eyes 
Burningly brand me to the core, his biave. 

*' I dwelt within a golden world of wealth, 
Which tlamcd a glistering glory, bloomed a warmth 
Without, within was cold as a tireless hearth. 
The Image of Nuptial Love to which they led me 
A maiden sacrifice i' the Sanctuary, 
That should have raised me, smiled my tears away, 
And into quickness all my coldness kist. 
And fed with precious oil the lamp of love 
That in my heart, as in a tomb, burned on, 
Was a gaunt Skeleton, whose grave-like arms 
Claspt me for ever to a loveless breast. 

•' He was a cruel Tyrant, just too mean 
To murder, altho' pitiless as the grave ; 
A human iuk-lish spreading clouds around 
When eyes of tender ruth would come too near. 
He had a thin-lipt lust of power which lookt 
On torture in no rage of iiery blood. 
But with infernal light of gloating eyes. 
And yet I strove to love him. my God ! 
While reaching from the heights of blessedness. 
To pluck the rainbow-fruit lleavcn held to me. 
How had I fallen into a chasm tliat closed 
Its dark inevitable arms, and crusht 



I 



ONLY A DREAM. 295 

Me, bruised and blind ! I struck, and struck, and 
beat 

With bleeding strength, in vain. A hundred hands 

Fought in the gloom with mine as water weak. 

At every step there stirred some hissing snake. 

I felt as one that's bound, and buried alive ; 

The black, dank death-mould stampt down over- 
head, 

And cried, and cried, and cried, but no help came. 

" I heard the sounds above me far away ; 
The feet of hurrying Life, and loitering Love ; 
Rich bursts of music, hum of low sweet talk ; 
The dance of pleasure dancing in her heaven, 
And rustling rain of a thousand dear delights. 
I knew the pictured world was lighted up, 
' And bloomed, like bridal-chamber, soft and warm : 
How sang the merry, merry birds of bliss ; 
How Beauty's flower-guests stood crowned and 

drank 
The health of Heaven in its own golden wine. 
But not a crumb of all the glad life-feast, 
Nor drop of all the wanton wealth for me. 
And if I stretcht weak arms to clasp my world, 
A wormy mouth to my wild warmth was prest. 
And if I turned to lift a prayer to God, 
Above me burned two eyes like bottomless pits 
In which a nest of devils lurk and leer. 
And down my night there stoopt no smiling 

Heaven, 
With golden chances of a starry throne. 
And beckoning looks to bid me come be crowned. 

" Around me rose the phantoms of the dark, 
The Grave's Somnambules troubled in their dream, 
Who walk and wander in the sleep of Death, 
And cannot rest, they were so wronged in life. 
The crownless Martyrs of the marriage-ring ! 
Meek sufferers who walkt in livino; hell, 



29G ONLY A DREAM. 

And diod a life of spiritual suttee. 

Tliey came to claim their kin in misery, 

And show mc, as they passed in solemn train, 

Their symbols of unutterable woe, — 

Scarred loves that bore the rack and told no talo ; 

Tear-drowned hearts and stifled agonies ; 

The bleeding lips struck dumb by brutal hands ; 

Slow murders of the curtained bridal-bed ; 

The silent tofturcs and the shrouded deaths. 

" I wandered with them in the pitilet^s night 
Who seek the jewel fallen from Life's crown; 
Oft stumbling, bled upon the cruel thorns, 
But rose, and struggled on. I strained mine eyes 
Upon the dark, and raised mine empty cup ; 
Surely with one gold drop of honey-dew. 
Somewhere the heavens ran o'er t' enrich my life ? 

" Then came to me a thing most sweet and strange, 

As tho' an Angel kist me in the night. 

Or Magic Rose flusht sudden in the gloom. 

A loosening charm wrought in my brain ; the 

weight 
That ached to be daslit out in utter death. 
Was melting like a wintry clod in flowers. 
In love's dead ashes burst a spark. I cried, 
' sweet light-bringer, in a bloom of dawn 
Rise, let me see what treasure I have found ! 
My little Bird shall hurry out the ninht. 
Till all my world is toucht with rosy gold : 
My little Bird of God sliall sit and sing 
The dear day long, the dearer for the dark ! 
My rich, warm jewel, crimson with sweet life, 
Come shine where now I cross l)ut empty palms. 
And clasp the new love-raiment radiant round.* 

" ' If thou rise beautiful from Sorrow's sea, 
As Venice, Sorrow's child, is Beauty's Queen, 
Perchance thy little smiles, my Babe, may bring 



ONLY A DREAM. 297 

Some human softness in his face, and I 

Shall kiss the hand that hurts, for thy dear sake. 

And I shall walk with thee, my Child, with thee, 

Beneath new heavens, on an enchanted earth. 

When I enfold thee in my arms, sweet Babe, 

My heart will scarcely breathe lest it should wake 

The sleeping wings of its new-nestling bliss. 

When thou art born, my Child, all will be well ; 

For surely Love but vanisht in the dark 

To come back in the morning with my Babe ; 

And all the sweetness liveth on when all 

The bitterness is past ; and eyes that yearn 

Wet thro' the gloom are glorified at last. 

Soft baby -fingers feeling round my heart 

Shall melt its frost ; and baby-lips shall draw 

My tears in milk, and suck my sorrows dry. 

All hell may wrestle in one human heart ; 

All heaven will nestle in my drop of dew.' 

" It came, my dazzling dawn's re-orient hope ! 
My tiny Babe, with its sweet mournful eyes ! 
And the pale innocent but fanned his hate 
To frenzy ; for, in many a desolate day, 
And miclnight, lying with my heart awake, 
I had turned tearfully to look upon 
A precious picture worn by Memory, 
And in its beauteous image grew my Babe r 
Its luminous look had gathered all the light 
That lost beloved Presence left with me. 

" He poured his poison in the brimming glass 
My babe-joy-bearer lifted to my lips. 
And dasht its golden vintage in the dust. 
I ran the gauntlet of his hell for years, 
And fell down on the threshold mad. My Child ! 
They took my Babe from me, my pleading Babe ; 
And when the pretty one pined for me, and cried, 
Straining his dim eyes for me till he died ; 



298 ONLY A DREAM. 



n 



Thej called the Mother in to see her child 
That lay there in the little sliroud with all 
Its beauty folded up for God in Heaven : 
Dead ! dead ! its dear eyes closed by stranger 
hands. 

'* Much misery hath not made my spirit meek : 
Mine agony rends the bridal-veil : I cry, 
Come see what ghastly wounds bleed hidden here ! 
Behold where all the Tortures of the Past 
Are stored by Law, and sanctified for use. 
I drag my burthen to a nation's throne, 
And pray deliverance from this Tyrant's power. 
Pity me, all good people, as ye sit 
Within the golden circle of sweet marriage, 
Loving and loved, glorying and glorified ; 
AVhose love makes life so dear, that when ye die 
And sit on heavenlier heights, your eyes will search 
To find the garden where Love's fruitage grew ; 
The nest from whence your pretty nurslings flow ; 
Our old World smiling thro' its ploudy fold, 
And love it for the marriage love of old." 

She ceased, and from afar methought there came 

Across the night an echo sad and low, 

Love answering love, heart crying unto heart. 



In the merry spring-tide when green buds start, 

Wings break from tlio Imsk of care, 
And the dead beauty blossoms again in my heart, 

As I rlream of the things that were ; 
The bui-ieJ Past lifteth a radiant brow ; 

Some phantom-bark touoheth life's shore ; 
And it Hoateth me far from the sorrowful Now, 

Into Love's happy Nevermore. 



ONLY A DREAM. 299 

She rises before me, that Darling of mine. 

Whom I lost in the world so wide ; 
come to me, come to me, let thine arms twine 

About me, my life ! my Bride ! 
Ah me ! I am breaking my heart to see 

But the Image enshrined at its core; 
Yet Memory's sighs bring a balm to me. 

Out of Love's happy Nevermore. 

How I poured all my life, in a beaker of bliss 

For her! how I held the cup, 
As the leaves, though the wanton winds will kiss, 

Their tremulous dews hold up ! 
And my mind it walkt in a raiment white. 

Where starry thoughts reared a dome ; 
And the feast was spread, and the chamber alight 

For the guest that never came home. 

Lovely she was as the lily is white, 

When the beauty of morn it wears : 
Pure she was as the perfect light 

That haloeth happy tears. 
Hearts straight waiy rose from the shadow and cloud,. 

Where the light of her presence kist ; 
Yet over the might of the proudest she rode. 

Like Music, as she list. 

Love, rosy clear, in her cheek's faint dyes. 

Its first sweet bloom just took ; 
Love came trembling up in her eyes. 

As the stars in a happy brook : 
Dear eyes! they were di-eams of heaven, with a dance 

Of light in tlieir deep rich gloom ; 
Whence the smiling heart lookt like the golden glance 

From the pansy's purple bloom. 

' Darling of mine! does she ever think 
Of the old-time thoughts and things ? 
Darling of mine! does she come to drink 
At these wormwood spirit-springs ? 



300 ONLY A DREAM. 

Fori sometimes dream as I bend above, 
That the kiss of her lips clings there, 

And the fading balm of her breath of love 
Is eloquent in the air. 

*' If we met unawai'e, just to ease her lieart's pain, 

Would she fall on my bosom and sob ? 
Or would old memories glide through her brain 

With never an added throb ? 
Is her pillow e'er wet in the dead night-hours ? 

When the lieat of the day is o'er, 
Does she turn, like me, for a handful of flowers. 

Into Love's happy Nevermore? 

" there is no heart that loves on earth 

But may live to be loved again : 
Some other heart hath the same dear birth, 

And aches with the same sweet pain. 
And Love may yet come witli a golden ray 

Shall lighten my life's despair : 
But Love hath no second shaft can slay 

The first love nestling there. 

' ' In the merry spring-tide when green buds start, 

Wings break from the husk of care, 
And the dead beauty blossoms again in my lieart. 

As I dream of the things that were : 
The buried Past lifteth a radiant brow. 

Some phantom-bark toucheth life's shore : 
And I am borne fjir from the sorrowful Now, 

Into Love's happy Nevermore." 



All tills was hut the imap;ory of Dream ; 
For wlion the Morn in restless radiance rose, 
Her l)roath of beauty palpitating light, 
"With clouds of color smiling from the ground 



ONLY A DREAM. 301 

A sparkling ecstasy in the blue air ; 

And I with marvelling eyes had broke the seal 

Of slumber, read the letter of my Dream, 

Lo, Charmian was a fair and smiling Woman ! 

And oft the dimple gleamed upon her cheek, 

To vanish like a dew-drop in a rose ; 

And oft her laugh with reckless richness rung, 

And shook a shower of music-pearls around. 

I peered into the windows of her eyes, 

As one might come by light of day to look 

Adown the glade where he had seen the dance 

Of weird Elves in the night, but finds no trace. 

An aspect of the Graces ! who could know 

The wreathen face that writhed in my Dream ? 

But still, as in my Dream, I see her stand. 

Too living for a picture in romance. 

Telling the wild stern story of her wrongs. 

Holding the great Curse up to Heaven for ever, 

To call God's lightning down, altho' it kill 

Her with her wedded Curse. And in my Dream 

The kings and queens of prospering love go by, 

And little heed this Martyr by the way ; 

This poor weak woman trembling 'neath her load ; 

This life fast fettered to a festering corse ; 

This love that bleeds to death at many wounds : 

This passing Tragedy of Soul within 

Our five acts of the Sense, that breaks its way 

Thro' human hearts i' the Theatre of a world. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 



London Times. 

" It is the production of a young man who has 
fought his way to tlie Temple-gate sword in hand. 
May the summer morning be fair as the spring 
dawn is bright !" 

AthendEum. 

" In him we have a genuine songster. He has the 

true faculty of creative life Few poems in our 

recent outgrowth of poetic literature are finer than 

some of these love-verses We have quoted 

enough to show that here is another poet, — and one 
whose story and position as a teacher and preacher 
clothe him with unusual interest." 



Blackwood'' s Magazine, 

*' Gerald Massey has already won for himself a 
considerable name in lyrical poetry. He possesses 
a large share of the poet's stirring inspiration : he 
has within him the soul of a poet. What he has 
already done — and it is worthy of high praise — 
we take but as an instalment of what he is yet to 
do." 

Edinburgh Review. 

" Mr. Gerald Massey's poems have already gone 
through several editions, and some of them deserve 
their popularity . The most fastidious tastes will be 



304 OPIXIONS OF THE J'RESS. 

iiioi^t cliarincd with such vorsos as these Thei 

is a real glow about all that Mr. Massey writes.' 

London Quarterly Rericio. 

" Ills love-poetry is very pure and sweet, and 
frequently rivals the most genuine strains of 
Burns." 

Spectator. 

" That a man struggling through such difficulties 
should write with a facility, a melody, an elegance 
of sentiment, and a breadth of thought, quite equal 
to any of our minor poets, and in these respects not 
far short of writers scarcely to be reckoned as minor, 
is indeed surprising." 

Cltannbers' s Journal. 

*' If the extracts we have given do not suffice to 
show the promise with which this volume abounds, 
we must plead guilty to a mif*apprehcnsion of what 
constitutes poetry of a high order, full of originality 
and freshness of feeling ' ' 

Examiner. 

" This book contains not a few lines and passages 
which may be fairly called immortal verse. We 
give it our best letters of recommendation." 

New York Tribune. 

" Gerald Massey may anticipate a bright career 

among the modern masters of song None but 

tlie sternest or most narrow-minded critics will 
douljt that Gerald Massey is born for a poet. He 
possesses a teeming imagination, which luxuriates 
in all the glories of the outward universe. Never 
before were the joys of mapiiage life sunj^n such 
glowing strains." i ^ ^:k «-fl 



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